


Lightning in a Bottle

by 27dragons, tisfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Oral Sex, Shapeshifting, dragon - Freeform, non human/human relationships, tiny dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-09-17 03:50:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky's found some interesting things digging around in the trash near the palace.A dragon might be the most interesting...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justanotherpipedream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherpipedream/gifts), [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



“ _This_? Is a dragon?” Princess Whitney of Frost stared at the tiny thing clasped between her palms. “I was expecting something… well, _bigger_.”

The glass bottle she held was no larger than her hand, spread fingertip to thumb, and inside it  was a plug of moss, a few birch tree branches, a rock, and-- a very tiny reptile. If the creature hadn’t been bright red with a golden underbelly, Princess Whitney might have thought she was looking at a _lizard_. The slimy sorts of things that her brothers, the now dead and unmourned, crown prince and spare heir, had put in her bed when she was a child.

The court wizard, Mysterio, shrugged. “You weren’t very specific, Highness. You asked for a dragon, I got you a dragon.”

Whitney glared at the man. He was going to learn, soon enough, that one did not mock the princess. She’d already gotten rid of her most ardent detractors, and a handful of unacceptable suitors, as well. He’d do well to speak to her with respect. “What am I supposed to do with an infant dragon? They take _centuries_ to grow into a reasonable size.”

“Suppose it depends what you need it for,” Lord Justin of the Hammer said. He was a suitor, too, of sorts. The sort that did what the hell Whitney said. Justin was stupid, but not bad looking. He would do as a puppet on the throne.

Stupid laws, saying women couldn’t rule. As soon as she married and got herself a malleable man as King, she was going to change some of those laws. Gradually. And then no one was going to be in deeper mourning than the recently widowed Queen.

“Such as?”

“Well, if you just need dragon scale, or blood, for a protection spell,” Justin said, “you can kill this one, easily enough.”

“I was sort of hoping for a nice big dragon,” Whitney complained. “Something that could sit on my treasure pile and take care of it for me.”

“Pretty sure the words _nice_ , _big_ , and _dragon_ do not belong in the same sentence together,” Justin said. He laughed at his own joke, which was really intolerable. First off, Lord Justin just was not that funny. Secondly, he had a terribly annoying laugh.

Princess Whitney sighed and wondered how much longer she was going to have to put up with this before her father would agree to marry her off. She had to be married before she killed her father or her plan was not likely to work. Right now, the King still had a young wife, the possibility of a male heir was keeping the more aggressive suitors at bay. Once Whitney was orphaned, though, they’d come out in droves, and since it was the High Priest, then, who would select her husband (and therefore the King)... well, she didn’t trust the High Priest, either.

“I’m not going to wait a hundred years for this thing to grow up,” Whitney declared, rattling the bottle around. The dragon inside clung to its birch stick for dear life. “Get me a bigger dragon, warlock, or it’s your head I’ll put on a pike to guard my treasure.”

Mysterio didn’t look suitably cowed.

Princess Whitney needed a new magician, too. She tossed the bottle with the little dragon onto the table. She’d figure out what to do with it later.

***

The hour between sunset and the closing of the castle gate -- was the best time. It was just dark enough that people didn’t notice Bucky’s empty sleeve, and the gate was crowded enough at exodus that he could slip away without getting harassed by most of the castle guard.

Being a vagabond was against the law. Even if Bucky had lost his arm in the war, and it wasn’t his fault that he had trouble getting, or holding down, a job. No one cared about a soldier, after they were off the battle lines.

Bucky did, technically, have a small home at the very edge of the glassworks district. He did odd jobs, sometimes. Even a one-armed man could put wood on a fire, or sweep the floor.

He was also a midden-boy. He wasn’t too proud to poke through the trash in the alleyways of the wealthy, finding bits and bobs that he could wrap up in his pouches and take home. Sometimes he could sell them. Sometimes he found scrap metal or broken glass, and those could be melted down in the forges.

He’d timed it just right, this evening. Slid between two guards and actually made it inside the castle walls. That was rare; not that the King and his daughter didn’t have a midden pile, they did, just as much -- maybe even more -- as anyone else. Sometimes, Bucky could sweet talk a royal chef’s assistant into a bit of food that wasn’t pretty enough to serve to the Princess.

Bucky made his way past the courtyard.

Sometimes, he wondered what was wrong with the royals, that they threw away so much worthwhile stuff. In the first few minutes, Bucky found not one, but _three_ pairs of silk women’s stockings, and only one of them had a hole large enough in it to need darning, the rest were fine. The lady’s gown he found was too big to stuff in his backpack, but he used his little knife and neatly trimmed the lace and buttons off it. A silver shoe buckle made its way into his pocket.

And then he saw a glint of blue light, flashing off the back of the trash heap, like a sparkle of lightning.

Bucky climbed over the trash pile, trying to ignore the way his feet sank, and the smell of rotten food.

He had to stretch, it was almost out of reach, and that section of the pile wasn’t very safe. Almost-- there. He snagged the bottle, bringing it close to look at it.

Inside, he saw a few pieces of wood, a rock… and a tiny little lizard.

“Huh, what are you doing out here,” he wondered. “Probably someone’s pet, I guess. Rich ladies don’t like frogs and reptiles and the like. Come on. I’ll take you with me.” He tucked the bottle into his vest pocket.

He swung by the kitchen; no cook’s assistants that night, but Steve, the scullery boy and Bucky’s friend -- his mother had been one of the dozens of women who worked for the castle’s doctor, helping him in his trade -- had snagged a bag of bruised apples, a few loaves of day-old bread, and -- heaven help him, a whole pork loin that had been roasted to perfection, and then refused, because the Princess suddenly decided she didn’t _like_ pork.

“You don’t have to give me all this,” Bucky said, although he could eat for a week from the bread and apples alone. A little bit of pork and he could make some pretty savory pies with that to start him off.

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said, pushing the sack at him. “She’s got another suitor in the castle, so… everything’s a nightmare here. I have permanent wrinkles in my fingers from washing so many dishes.” Steve displayed his dishpan hands.

“All right,” Bucky said. “I’ll uh, probably not get back this way for a week or more. Got some work starting tomorrow.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

“Reading for Squire Summers.” Summers couldn’t see, and he sometimes wanted someone to read to him. The pay was barely a pittance, so other learned scholars didn’t bother, but Bucky could read, which many people in his situation could not.

“Well, have fun with that,” Steve said. They both knew Bucky wouldn’t. Summers was a pious sort, and usually had Bucky reading from some Sermons book or other. Steve could read, too, but at least working in the castle’s kitchen was warm, and he had plenty of food. Expecting him to trudge all the way down to the end of the Forge district, where ironmongers made their trade, and glassblowers, as well as the more smelly labors, like hide working, leathermaking, and dye boiling, was just asking for trouble.

Steve was the skinny sort of big mouthed kid that couldn’t seem to help getting into fights, and even though they were both technically men, now, Steve was barely of a height with most fifteen year olds.

Bucky gave Steve a quick hug and then hurried away, just as the exodus bell was ringing. Anyone who didn’t have business in the castle proper had to be away, or risk being arrested as a thief.

And despite the fact that people threw stuff away, midden-picking was still considered thievery. Bucky had enough problems with only the one hand. He didn’t need some fanatical guard deciding to chop off the other one as a warning against stealing.

It was a long walk, and cold. By the time Bucky made it back to his little one room home, he was shivering so bad that he didn’t dare try to make a fire. He only had three lucifers left, and they were dear. Until he knew what profit he’d turn from the lace and the stockings, he needed to make sure they lasted.

He bundled himself up with blankets, promising that once he could feel his toes again, he’d go ‘round with the lantern-box and see if he could trade a bun for a few hot coals. He tucked his hand inside his vest, trying to get his fingers as close to his ribs as possible, to warm them up.

Something inside his vest…

… was warm.

Tentatively, Bucky pulled out the little bottle. It was dark in his house, no fire meant no fat-lamps were lit.

He squinted at the bottle. The glass was warm, and inside-- inside the glass, the little stone was glowing like a piece of molten ore, red and black and hot.

The lizard was perched near the top of the bottle, gripping the cork with tiny claws. It took a deep breath until its tiny lungs were filled near to bursting and then breathed on the rock. And not just breath, but brilliant blue… _lightning_?

Bucky gingerly put the bottle down on the table, staring at the creature inside it.

He wasn’t sure what it was, a chameleon of some sort, perhaps? He understood they were very resistant to heat, although he’d never heard of one breathing lightning before.

On the other hand, the bottle probably wasn’t big enough for the creature anyway, and if it was setting things on fire inside, the poor thing was going to run out of air. Bucky rooted around in his storage area until he found an old glass punch bowl. Bucky’d traded a pack of needles and some hair ribbons for it, an apprentice’s first effort that had not been considered even or flawless enough to sell, but useful, for all that.

Bucky lined the bottom of the bowl with a soft bit of scrap cloth, filled a thimble with water, and shredded a tiny piece of the pork loin, making the bowl, hopefully, a nice comfortable home. He worked the cork out with his teeth and very gently, set the bottle on its side in the bowl. “You can come out, if you want,” he told the little creature. “My name’s Bucky, and if you want, you can stay here and I’ll take care of you.”

The lizard climbed out of the bottle, squeezing itself out the narrow neck.

Bucky practically held his breath, not wanting to scare the wee little beast any more than it probably already was.

It took a few steps onto the blanket, sniffed at it. Stuck its tiny head into the thimble and drank every bit of water in there. The lizard grabbed one of the shreds of pork, sat back on its hind legs like a raccoon and ate noisily. It made little cute hiccupy noises as it ate, like it was eating too fast.

“Hey, careful,” Bucky said. “You don’t want to choke.”

The lizard stopped, mid-chew, and its muzzle swung over carefully as it looked Bucky up and down. It swallowed, and then picked at its teeth with tiny claws. “Next time, I’ll bring out my best table manners when I’m nearly starving to death,” the little thing said in a perfectly clear voice.

“You talk?”

“I can sing and dance, too,” the creature said. “But not right now. Look, do you have any coffee? Or tea, if you have to. Or chocolate? Chocolate’s good.”

“I have chocolate,” Bucky said, staring down at the thing, wondering if he’d actually lost his mind. “A little. But I ain’t got a fire right now, and--”

“Fire? That’s something else I can do. Take me to your firepit, young man, and make me a cup of chocolate.”

“You’re a bossy little thing,” Bucky told it. He wasn’t sure if the creature meant for Bucky to carry him, or the whole bowl, and settled for offering the creature his fingers.

“It’s the nature of dragons,” the -- dragon? -- said. “We’re usually in charge.” The dragon climbed onto Bucky’s hand and wrapped itself around Bucky’s wrist like a bracelet. The creature’s skin was leather-soft and pliant, the claws like kitten-prickles as it gripped.

“You’re a little small for that,” Bucky said, but he carried the dragon over to the fireplace anyway. “Let me get it laid out.”

“It’s hardly my fault,” the dragon said, watching as Bucky laid out kindling and chips of wood into the narrow grate. The fireplace worked well enough, although the flue was jammed, which meant the house was colder than it needed to be. Bucky couldn’t close off the chimney when the house was empty, so cold air seeped right in. “My size is determined by my age. I’m only forty years old, so I’ve got some growing to do.”

“I see,” Bucky said, even though he didn’t.

The little dragon huffed and a bright bolt of lightning shot out of its throat. A moment later, flickers of fire were crawling up the woodchips and settling into the kindling.

“That’s useful,” Bucky commented.

“Thanks,” the dragon said. “Now, chocolate? You’ve got sugar, too?”

“Were you the Princess’s pet?” Bucky wondered. “Chocolate and sugar… spoiled rotten, you are.”

“I’m a _dragon_ ,” the dragon said. “Not somebody’s _pet_.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. “You got a name, dragon?”

“Stark,” the dragon said. “It’s close enough.”

Bucky carefully measured a few spoonfuls of the last of his chocolate into a mug. He swung the pot over the firegrate to get some water boiling. One chunk of rock sugar into the bottom. There was more chocolate in the mug than one tiny dragon could reasonably drink, he supposed. “So, what were you doing in the trash heap?”

“Her highness threw me out as being too small to be useful,” Stark grumped. He spat another bolt of lightning into the fire, making it roar up.

“Well, I think you’re very useful,” Bucky said. “I know it’s not much, but you don’t eat much, either. You’re welcome to stay here, if you need a place to stay.”

“Well, a lot of that depends on where I am now,” Stark said. “Some stupid wizard summoned me, so it’s not like I got directions.”

“Brooklyn,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah, that’s a bit of a ways from home,” Stark said thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind, then, Sir Bucky--”

Bucky laughed. “It’s just Bucky.”

The little dragon looked pointedly at Bucky’s sword and shield that still hung on the wall, then back at him. “Just because you’re retired doesn’t mean you didn’t earn the honor. Sir Bucky. I should like to claim hospitality for some time until I can make arrangements to get home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Manhattan,” Stark told him.

“That’s… quite a long ways from here,” Bucky said, cautiously. “And you’re… very small if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Well, I do have some resources,” Stark said. “In the meanwhile?”

“You’re welcome here, for as long as you’d like to stay. What’s mine is yours,” Bucky said. It felt strange, and formal, giving a guest hospitality. He bowed his head to the dragon.

“Thank you,” Stark said. “That water’s just about boiling, now, my host.”

“So it is,” Bucky said. He ladled out some hot water and gave the chocolate a stir. “For you.”

The dragon barely hesitated before practically diving into the cup. “ _Ahhhh_. It’s not coffee, but it’ll do.”

Bucky poured himself a cup of hot water and added a handful of chicory roots to it. Sliced some of the cold pork loin and ate it between two bits of torn day old bread. He ended it with an apple for dessert, and Stark ate the core when Bucky was done.

Stark ended up commandeering one of the pairs of silk stockings for a nest, and curled up on the table near Bucky’s bed. “Thank you for your generosity, my host.”

“You’re very welcome,” Bucky told him.

The house was warm, he was full to the brim with good meat and bread, and he had a little companion to talk to. Content as he’d been in months, maybe even years, Bucky slid off into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we couldn't leave this alone...
> 
> (also, there is smut later on in this fic. We're not tagging it as bestiality because Tony does change shapes in order to be able to have sex without getting squashed -- that's very important to him! -- but... he's not human, and if that squicks you, we will not be offended if you skip it)

Tony jolted awake in a flurry of sparks and nearly fell off the table in his moment of confusion and panic before he remembered the human who’d saved him -- not that Tony hadn’t been able and ready to save _himself_ , but it would have taken time and a great deal of energy to heat the rock up enough to shatter the glass bottle, and Tony had still been exhausted from the ordeal of having been summoned. Which he still didn’t know how they’d accomplished.

So. Rescued. He supposed he owed Sir Bucky a debt. A small one. And then he could make his way home.

But first: fire. It was _freezing_ in Sir Bucky’s little house, not like Tony’s own cave, warm and steamy from the hotsprings that ran through the mountain. Or even like the castle, with its huge, roaring fireplaces.

Tony eyed the gap between the table and the bed. Only another fifty years or so until his wings would grow in, but in the meantime... He backed up along the table, let his claws prick into the wood for traction, and raced across, taking a huge leap just as he reached the edge.

Perfectly gauged. Of course. Tony landed on the pillow next to Sir Bucky’s head. He tapped at Sir Bucky’s face. “Wake up, human.”

Sir Bucky brushed at his face, as if Tony was some sort of annoying fly, his face scrunching up as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Mmmmrph, Steve, there’s a roll over by th’ fire, if you wannit,” he muttered, still more asleep than awake.

And then he rolled over, tugging the single, thin blanket over his shoulder and nearly knocking Tony off the bed entirely in the process.

Tony scrambled for purchase, hooking his claws in the blanket for dear life. When Sir Bucky finally settled, Tony climbed up to perch on Sir Bucky’s shoulder. He considered the sleeping human with annoyance. “Sir Bucky,” he said, a little louder. “Wake up. I require assistance.”

Sir Bucky opened one eye, a pale shade of blue that was reminiscent of silver. He turned his head, as if looking for the source of the voice, before-- “Oh! Stark! ‘M sorry, what?” He sat up, carefully, keeping his hand cupped under Tony’s claws so he didn’t knock the dragon around any more. “Ug, winter! It’s chilly in here. Reckon th’ fire went out again. Damn mechanism’s stuck.”

“Mechanism?” Tony liked gadgets and mechanical things. Human hands were so clever. Not that Tony couldn’t manage a trick or two, himself. “Show me this mechanism now.”

Sir Bucky put Tony back on the table. “You are such a tiny thing to be so demandin’.” He yawned, stretched, scratched idly at the growth of hair on his chin and cheeks before pulling on the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. Properly attired and groomed for a human, Tony supposed.

“Is there a proper way t’ pick you up? Don’t want to be carting you around like a kitten or nothin’,” Sir Bucky said. “Even a very young dragon’s got some dignity.”

“What does age have to do with dignity?” Tony wondered. But he appreciated Sir Bucky’s politeness. Much better than that nasty sorcerer or that rude princess. “Hold out your hand, and I’ll climb on,” he instructed. He paused, considering. Human skin was very soft. “Unless my claws hurt?”

“Not for a little ride like this,” Bucky said. “Might wanna look into some kinda jesses like bird hunters use, a pad on m’ shoulder an’ the like, if we’re gonna do this long-term.” He offered a palm and then went over to the fire, where the logs from the previous evening had gone cold. “The flue up there, ‘s jammed. Despite bein’ short an arm, I can’t get my shoulders up in there, and I can’t reach it. The wind comes straight down the chimney and puts the fire right out.”

“Well, that’s no good.” Tony slithered off Bucky’s hand and onto the logs, then dug his claws into the stone and brick that made up the fireplace chimney. They weren’t smooth enough to deter him, and he climbed up into the chimney to look at the _flue_.

It seemed simple enough, a piece of metal that could be adjusted to let more or less air through. But the lever that moved the metal on its hinge had a chip of wood the size of Tony’s torso wedged into it, sticking it in place. Tony had been fed and given chocolate and then slept the night through, and he was strong and full of energy. He took a deep breath, tipped his tongue at the back of his throat to engage his lightning, and blasted the wood with as much force as he could muster.

The chip crackled and shivered and smoked. Tony harrumphed and blasted it again. A tiny flame caught on one corner -- and then snuffed out. “I will not be bested by you,” he told it. He drew a deep, deep breath, and blasted it again. This time, the wood split straight down its grain, quivered, and fell free.

“Ha!” He worked his way back down and across the firewood to climb back up Sir Bucky’s sleeve. “It will work now.”

Sir Bucky rattled the little lever, yanked, and then peered up the chimney. “I’m much obliged,” he said. “Been going through firewood like you can’t believe, and it’s just gonna get colder before it’s spring again.” He stacked the fire up, and got the kindling and starters prepped, working pretty efficiently for a man who was down a limb. “You hungry? I can make up some griddle-cake for breakfast, or you can have have some more of the pork I got last night.”

Tony waited until Sir Bucky was done fussing with the wood and then lit the kindling before curling around the human’s wrist, leaching the heat out of that warm skin. “I don’t know,” he said. “What’s griddle-cake?” He peered around and spied the cup he’d been offered the previous night. “Is there more chocolate?” Using his lightning so much in such a short time was tiring. He needed to refuel.

“There’s a little more chocolate,” Sir Bucky said. “I can make a sauce of it, for the cakes. They’re just milled oat and wheat, little water. Fried up in a bit of oil. You can eat wheat? I don’t know what dragons eat, aside from Princesses.”

“Mostly meat,” Tony informed him. “But a little wheat, yes. I will try this cake, with chocolate. And have more of the pork.” Decided, Tony ran up Sir Bucky’s arm to cling to the collar of his shirt, letting his hair trap some heat, while the fireplace and the flue did their work.

Tony hadn’t gotten much opportunity to watch humans cook -- what little he’d seen of humans before had been at a distance, when the ruling families of Manhattan had consulted with the dragon elders. Mostly, what he knew of it was men roasting animals over the flames, or throwing a lot of stuff in a pot and drinking it.

Sir Bucky used a mix of oil and water, and a strange-looking instrument that he informed Tony was a _whisk_ , to froth up some chocolate and sugar into a thick syrup. He made a lot of use of his knees, holding bowls between them, and using his single hand to stir or cut and chop.

Tony almost fell into the larger bowl of wheat-flour and then watched, fascinated, as a dipped cup of white goo turned into a neat little round disk of sweet smelling bread. Sir Bucky diced up the pork loin with a bit of some smelly vegetable bulb and cooked that, too. He put a wide bowl on the table, big enough that Tony could have taken a bath in it, and filled it with food.

“Ain’t much,” Bucky said. “I’ll have to go out today, see what I can trade up, or we won’t be eating tonight. Can’t go back up to the castle very often. The guards see me, I could be arrested.”

“Arrested? Why?” Tony clung to the side of the big bowl and snapped up a piece of the pork. It tasted good, sweeter and richer than the previous night, steeped in the juices of the vegetable.

“Well, aside from havin’ the nerve to be poor in the King’s castle?” Sir Bucky used his cake to soak up as much of the chocolate syrup as he could get. “And stealin’ out of the midden pile? I mighta done some rabble-rousing back in the day. Upset some people in power. Don’t approve much of some of the-- well, let’s just say, Strike doing guard duty for the palace, a lot of people have gotten hurt that didn’t need to be. They’re brutes. And that court magician? If he’s not into black magic, I’ll cut off my other arm.”

Tony hissed. “The one who summoned me? He smells of death and blood.” He did not approve, not at all. “Where do we go, then, if not to the castle?”

“I got a few things, before I spotted you,” Sir Bucky said. “Might be able to find a trade. I got a good length of lace, some fancy buttons. I sometimes get food from my friend who works in the castle, in the kitchens. But not today. There’s just not much work for a man with one arm. Oh, and we gotta go do some reading for a friend. He’ll give me a few coins. You can come with me, if you want. I don’t know what your plans are, friend Stark.”

“You helped me,” Tony said. “I will help you.” He snapped up another bit of pork, decisively. He considered the situation. “Fancy buttons are good trade?” he wondered. “Are any of them silver?”

“Got a silver shoe buckle,” Bucky said. “They throw out stuff that could feed a family of five for a year, I swear, an’ yet, they’d put me in prison for touchin’ it. Even something like you, a living thing. They’d have just let you die, rather than cross the Princess.”

Tony hissed again, sparks crackling along his length. “And humans wonder why we eat them!” He glared up at Bucky. “She thinks I’m _too small_? I’ll show her. I can be _useful_ ,” he said defiantly.

“You don’t seem useless to me, and that doesn’t seem a good enough reason to make a thinking creature suffer,” Bucky said, thoughtfully. “Not even a good enough reason to hurt any living creature, really. You could have died in that bottle.” He looked exceptionally offended on Tony’s behalf, ready to march back up to the castle and demand an accounting.

Tony hummed, mollified. “Would’ve gotten myself out,” he said. “But it would have been very tiring. So I will be useful for _you_. You give me the silver buckle.” He stretched out his neck and tore off a small bite of the griddle-cake. It wasn’t meat, but the chocolate sauce was good, and the wheat was filling.

“Sure,” Sir Bucky said, easily. “Jeweler will just melt it down, without a mate. I can sell it for the weight, if it’s pure enough, and if the jeweler doesn’t cheat me. Bet you miss your hoard. We always hear stories about that, a dragon’s hoard of jewels and riches.” He fished around in his bag and produced a piece of silver twisted in a circle and adorned with a few silvers of cut ruby, just enough to give a fanciful rose on the clip some color.

Tony reached for it eagerly, grasping it in his claws. He flicked out his tongue, tasting the metal, the gems. The gems were no good, tiny chips that had been cut down so small because they were flawed, but the silver was excellent, very high-quality and nearly pure. “Yes, this is good,” Tony said. “I will keep this, to sleep on.” He hummed happily, then carried it down Sir Bucky’s arm and tucked it, and himself, into the shirt pocket. “I am ready to go now.”

“All right, then, let’s get about our day,” Sir Bucky said. He stood up, put his few dishes into a bucket of water near the fire. For a long moment, he just stopped, gaze fixed on the sword and shield that hung on the wall, finely wrought and good craftsmanship. The shield was emblazoned with a single red star on a silvered enamel backing. He reached out his hand, brushed his fingers over the sword’s steel blade, engraved and well oiled.

“Yes,” Tony agreed. “We will trade, so that we may eat, and be useful.”

***

Bucky wasn’t sure what Stark was going to do with a shoe buckle that would qualify as useful, but he supposed it didn’t hurt to let the little creature keep it, at least for a time. Bucky should be able to trade in the lace and buttons for enough to keep them eating for a day or so, and after that, if he didn’t find something else to trade, he could try to explain to Stark that they needed to give it up.

But for now, Stark was curled up with the buckle in Bucky’s pocket, and it was a warm, welcome weight against his chest. It felt good to be able to help _something_ in this world, if not himself.

When the cobbler’s widow stuck her head out of the shop and then hurried after them, calling, “Wait, wait, Sir Knight,” even with Stark naming him as Sir Bucky all morning, Bucky wasn’t sure she was talking to _him_.

He hadn’t been _Sir Knight_ to anyone since the war, and it wasn’t like he was mounted up and carrying a banner. He hadn’t even taken his sword off the wall to do more than sharpen and polish the thing in years.

But when she caught his elbow, tentatively, Bucky knew it had to be him.

In Bucky’s shirt pocket, Stark stirred, wriggling around and clawing his way up to peer out. When the woman was distracted, he climbed all the way up onto Bucky’s shoulder and hid behind Bucky’s hair.

“Ma’am?” Bucky said, brushing his forehead with one hand. He didn’t have a visor to raise, and showing his hand weaponless seemed silly, given that he only had the one of them in the first place.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Knight,” she said, bobbing in something that might have resembled a bow. “My daughter, she had herself a baby girl last night.”

Bucky smiled. “Give her my congratulations, then, and--”

“Thing is, we were hopin’ maybe you could give the baby your blessing. Wee mite that she is, no father,” the woman said. “Would… would you?”

Bucky almost snorted. It was one of the graces that the position of knighthood gave Bucky: a so-called direct connection with the gods. He and his fellows were supposed to be holy warriors, taking back the promised land. It was all bullshit and Bucky knew it. He’d never felt particularly close to any gods. Nor did he really think that the gods owed him any such favors.

But sometimes people had asked him, before. Back when he did have a horse and still wore his armor.

But what good would it do the baby? None.

“You should do this thing,” Stark said decisively. “It is _useful_.”

Well, and what harm would it do the baby, either?

“All right,” Bucky said. Stark quivered against his neck, humming happily. Bucky had to keep reminding himself that the tiny dragon was there. He hardly weighed a thing, but the little claws scraped against his skin. Instinctively, Bucky wanted to scratch at the spot, or brush away an insect.

The young mother, still in her birthing dress, was overly thin, with dark smudges under her eyes. She smiled at Bucky, though, and indicated the little wrapped bundle in her arms.

The baby was calm, her peachy skin healthy and a fuzz of hair on her head. She had the same nondescript pale eyes that all babies seemed to have.

“Does she have a name?”

“Ann-Marie,” the woman told him.

Bucky looked down at his single hand, said a few words in the old language, to call the gods’ attention, and placed his palm on the baby’s forehead.

As far as he could tell, nothing actually happened. The baby wasn’t any more blessed than she had been before Bucky had done it, and Bucky personally thought any gods who were withholding blessings from children in absence of a Knight’s touch weren’t very godly in the first place. On the other hand, he hadn’t done the child any harm either, and the mother seemed relieved, as if Bucky’s few words had eased her mind somehow.

“Thank you,” the cobbler’s wife said, and she pressed two coins into Bucky’s hand. Two silver splitters, called that because the coins were scored deep on the vertical and horizontal, to make change. A quarter-split could pay Bucky’s minimal rent on his cottage for a month. He was looking at the better part of a year’s bills in his hand.

He wasn’t allowed to refuse. Stark chuckled happily to himself. “ _Useful,_ ” he murmured.

Back in the day, when he’d served with an active unit, he would have put those coins toward their quartermaster’s supply chain. Today?

He slid them into his pocket, along with the silver shoe buckle that Stark had claimed.

“Watch those, will ya?” he muttered to Stark out of the corner of his mouth as they went. “No use in having a pickthief make off with our earnings.”

“No thieves,” Stark promised, scurrying back into the pocket like a little lizard. “I will protect them!” 


	3. Chapter 3

The human marketplace was nothing like the dragon-moots that Tony had attended, the last one more than ten years before, where dragons got together to feast and to trade. Dragons, being generally very large and extremely powerful, were all also exceptionally polite. It just wasn’t a thing that sentient beings did, angering a dragon by accident. Even if you _were_ a dragon.

Dragons lived long enough to make certain to collect any debts… in full.

Humans, on the other hand, bickered and shoved each other. Yelled and swore. Stole from each other. Tony saw at least a one young human relieving more than one person of their belongings, but since the quick-fingered little thief didn’t come anywhere near Tony’s treasure, he was safe enough.

And there were so _many_ of them. Hundreds of men and women dressed in plain clothing, much like Bucky’s. Dozens in colorful silks, like flowers blooming here and there in a field. Several priests of various denominations.

Bucky, Tony was noticing, did not get a lot of respect.

More than one vendor made him show the color of his coin before they’d allow him to even look at their goods, and one soldier had made Bucky move along when the man stopped to rest for more than a moment.

Tony hissed at the guard when Bucky apologized and lurched into motion. Bucky was a _knight_ , he should not be required to kowtow to mere _police_. “They have no respect,” Tony complained indignantly. “You are a good man, a brave man. They should be grateful that you walk among them!” He scrabbled out of the pocket and up onto Bucky’s shoulder, peering back at the surly soldier through the curtain of Bucky’s hair.

Bucky made a lopsided gesture that rocked Tony’s perch. “Sometimes I think it’s _because_ I was a knight,” he said. “They get to feel powerful, pushin’ me around now. It’s certainly a better story to taunt the wolf than the sheep. But I couldn’t win, and they know it. Not that it would serve anyone to fight back. You hungry? I don’t know much about the eatin’ habits of dragons, except to keep an eye on your horse, in dragon country.”

“I could not eat an entire horse,” Tony said, considering it. “Not yet.” But he _was_ hungry. Exerting his magic to multiply the little hoard was tiring. “A mouse?” he suggested. There had been field mice outside his caves, back home.

“Hmmm. There’s a grain bin on th’ far side of the market. Bet there’s some pests in there. Can you hunt your own? Or, if that’s too much, or slim pickings, I might be able to get us a bowl of mutton stew.”

Tony harrumphed, and only just avoided setting Bucky’s hair on fire with a crackle of lightning. “I can hunt!” he said indignantly. “You will take me there, and I will hunt while you feed yourself.”

“A’ight,” Bucky said. He turned down the corner, and skated along through what appeared to be more storage and manufacturing than market; vats of smelly liquid -- dye -- soaked leather and cloth, strings of mackerel hung from racks in front of a building, drying. But there were fewer people, and the general workmen seemed to know Bucky, at least by sight. He waved a few times, and finally made it to the far side of the street.

The granary had thick walls, and the air was rich with chaff. Baker’s assistants and other merchant folk came with their baskets empty and left with wheat or rye, flour or coarse ground barley for beer. There were a few cats, and Tony could definitely  smell the mice, fat and lazy.

“Good hunting,” he purred, approving. “Shall I catch some for you, too?” He chuckled and scrambled down Bucky’s clothes without waiting for an answer, aiming for a crack in the granary wall.

It took a little wriggling to make his way through the wall -- he must have grown, recently; he was bigger than he expected -- but eventually found himself in the cool, dark, fragrant interior.

A hint of light caught on a cat’s eyes and glowed as they turned toward him suspiciously: the most senior of the granary’s cats. All the beasts were plump and sleek-furred; they dined well. So would Tony.

The cat rose from its haunches and padded toward Tony. He let loose a small lick of lightning that poofed into a fireball, thanks to all the chaff in the air, but quickly burned itself out. And it had performed its function: the cat had halted its advance, surprised by the flame and then -- hopefully -- convinced that Tony was not suitable prey.

Tony clambered over the mounds of grain, slipping and slithering as his claws refused to find purchase. The glowing green of the cat’s watchful eyes followed his progress.

Finally, Tony found a spot nestled between two enormous piles of grain and settled in to watch. It didn’t take long before the grain shifted, sliding and spilling. Tony pounced, needle-claws and nail-teeth snapping through the grain to dig out a fat mouse, its cheeks stuffed full of grain.

A snap of his jaws broke the creature’s neck, and a jet of (very careful) lightning singed away the fur and roasted the meat. Once it was sufficiently cooked, Tony bolted the meat, purring happily at the familiar taste.

He managed to find and eat two more mice, which left him feeling extremely full indeed, nearly as plump and satisfied as the cat, which had long since decided to ignore him. He made his way back over to the wall and crawled along it until he found a crack big enough to let him out.

Now, he only had to find his knight again.

***

Two doors down from the granary was a moneylender’s office. Bucky leaned against the wall and watched their clients. No one looked particularly happy, marching in with their writ of monies owed and walking out again, having paid a pittance on whatever sums they had borrowed.

Some people, instead of coins, were bartering away goods and trade. A woman went in with a fat laying chicken and a basket of eggs. Another was selling off a family heirloom to keep the creditors at bay.

“Aunt May,” the boy said, tugging at her arm. “We can’t pay--”

“Well, if we don’t, then he’ll have the law on us, Peter,” she said. “We’ll just… tighten our belts a little.”

Sometimes, Bucky though, it was very good for him to know that there were other people in similar straits to his own. And sometimes, it was heart wrenching.

He watched them climb up the narrow, stone steps, backs straight as rails, going to -- pardon the expression, Stark -- beard the dragon in its den.

Bucky was just considering the problem; he could perhaps aid them, but if he gave it to them before they went to the moneylender, chances were good they still wouldn’t eat and a rich man would only be richer. But if he watched carefully, maybe he could catch them on their way out again.

While he was watching, Stark waddled up -- seriously, the dragon was nearly stuffed to the gills. Did dragons even have gills? -- and laboriously climbed up Bucky’s trouser leg before he got his hand down there to give Tony a lift.

“There’ll be a cat or two who misses a meal, I take it?”

Stark huffed. “Cats fat anyway.” He let Bucky lift him up to cling to Bucky’s shoulder, then sniffed at the air. “No food here,” he remarked.

“I didn’t want to go too far,” Bucky said, watching the moneylender’s door. “My legs are, pardon me for saying so, quite a bit longer than yours.” May and her nephew came out of the office, the boy’s hand on his aunt’s shoulder. She wasn’t quite crying, but Bucky knew that resigned look. He peered into the pocket where Stark was guarding his tiny stash of coins. And then blinked. There were at least seven coins in there, and a second shoe buckle.

“Stark, how… were we visited by a _reverse_ thief?” He waited until May and Peter turned the corner and then followed them. The boy was wearing a red hooded jacket, he should be easy enough to spot, even in a crowd.

Stark looked smug. “Useful,” he said firmly. “I am useful!” He wiggled in amongst the coins, letting them rub over his scales.

“You did… what _did_ you do? To my coins?” He was going to be in a lot of trouble if it turned out he was harboring a dragon pickpocket.

“I grew the hoard,” Stark said, overly patient, like a mother explaining to a toddler that fire was hot. “It’s very difficult, but you helped me. So I help you. A dragon pays his debts.”

“Well, that explains a bit,” Bucky said. It certainly made dragon-hunting a waste. Why kill the creature that was making more wealth? How did that help anyone? He didn’t say that aloud, however. He’d never personally been on a dragon-hunt before, and the few knights he knew who had gone that route never came home.

They passed a food vendor, and despite still being slightly rounded from his hunting, Stark’s nose turned to follow it, and then his little head tipped to eye Bucky curiously. “No food? You must be hungry, too!”

“I’ll eat,” Bucky said, not taking his eyes off the rapidly disappearing pair. “I’m just looking for the right people to share my meal with.”

He tried to remember, exactly, how he’d moved and talked and been, right after he’d won his spurs. His gait sped up, and people moved out of his way as if he were parting the seas like some sort of miracle. “Ma’am,” Bucky said, as he caught up with the woman. “Excuse me, if you don’t mind, just a moment. Earlier today, I was blessed with some good luck, and as is my debt to the gods for it, I would like to share my luck with you. If you’ll allow it, would you do me the kindness of sitting to a meal with me, that the gods know I appreciate their gift?”

Maybe there was something to that whole holy warrior bit, after all.

And as luck -- or the gods -- would have it, they were nearly in the courtyard of one of the city’s best taverns, and the smells coming from inside were mouthwatering. Bucky dropped one of the split silver pieces that Stark had provided into the innkeep’s hand, which commanded the best table in the house and the finest of the choice cuts of beef. Beer and watered wine, bread that was still fresh, and roasted vegetables -- May insisted that the boy eat them, even over his protests -- and even a small sugar and apple tart at the end.

Bucky allowed May -- Mrs. Parker, he shouldn’t call her May, even in his own thoughts, that was entirely too familiar -- to cut up his beef for him, and she did the kindness of not asking questions when Bucky slid a few pieces into his pocket for Stark.

Stark ate them with relish, despite having just eaten at the granary, and curled up in Bucky’s pocket like a tiny cat. “Do you owe them a debt?” he wondered.

“In a manner of speaking,” Bucky said, quietly, watching as Peter scarfed up roll after roll, liberally garnished with butter and jam. “In that I saw someone suffering, and had the means to relieve it. A human fancy, perhaps, the concept of paying a debt forward, rather than back.”

“Hmmm,” Stark pondered. “Dragons sometimes share their hoard when they are courting. Are you courting?”

Bucky chuckled. “No. I’m merely following the code of knighthood -- to be kind, generous, and charitable to my fellow men -- as well as the dictates of my own character. I would… worry about them, going hungry. So, to spare myself the worry, since I’ve the means to feed them, at least for the day?”

Mrs. Parker and her nephew were doing their utmost to pretend that Bucky was not, in fact, talking to his pocket. It didn’t keep the innkeeper from staring at him fixedly for some time, however.

Stark made a soft, satisfied noise. “A good man,” he said, as if answering some argument. Then he curled down and went to sleep.

Well fed, content, and with the Parkers’ undying loyalty, if he ever had need of such a thing, Bucky went to sit with Squire Summers, as he’d promised, reading for a comfortable hour with Stark’s warm little body curled against his chest. Then he finished his few errands, trading the lace to a tailor for a leather jerkin -- he would need it if Stark continued to bear him company, or otherwise he’d be covered with little scratches in only a few days time -- and an actual gold coin. Apparently lace was more dear than Bucky had thought, and this lace, he was told, was good enough to grace a lady’s evening gown.

By the time he finished selling off the bits and bobs, Bucky had purchased an entire new outfit, some sturdy boots, and a sack full of groceries.

“You, my little friend,” he told Stark, seriously, “are quite the lucky charm, and I thank you very much for your services on my behalf.”

He deposited the dragon on his rickety little wooden table, and then unloaded his purchases. He eyed the creature and wondered if it was true generosity, or avarice, that made him consider the length of Stark’s visit. “Forgive me if I am ignorant of dragon custom, will you tell me your plans? You’re more than welcome to stay, so long as you like. You’re good company, and we are, I hope, of some use to each other.”

“Useful,” Stark agreed. He was wrestling the remaining coins into a small pile according to some system that might have made sense to dragon eyes, but certainly didn’t show any discernible pattern to Bucky. “And interesting. I’ve never talked to a human before. I like you. I will stay.”

“I’ve never talked to a dragon before,” Bucky said. “I wasn’t… even aware that dragons and humans spoke the same language. So, we’ll both be doin’ something new.” He scrunched down in the chair to practically lay his chin on the table, putting himself on eye level with the tiny creature. “Are all dragons as beautiful as you are?”

“No,” Stark said, nose in the air. “My colors are the _most_ beautiful. But others are pretty enough. Much more beautiful than humans.” He gave Bucky a pitying look. “You cannot help it, of course. But you are very good. Very nice.” He curled like a cat on top of his little pile of coins and shoe buckles.

“Well, an earthworm will fancy other earthworms, I suppose,” Bucky said, with a laugh. “And we can’t all be dragons.”

 


	4. Art Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've gotten So Much Art that I'm just going to add in some Art Interludes to show you all the Stuff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art from [Monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/) and [Trashcanikan](http://trashcanakin-archive.tumblr.com/)

From Monobuu, Dragon Tony as first found in the midden heap

 

From Trashcanikan, Tony shortly after release.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Caves and bowers, Tony discovered, were favored homes of dragons for sheer containment issues. He was just stretching when the coins and lumps of silver slid out from under him and rattled onto the floor like an avalanche.

Across the small distance, the human, Bucky, bolted upright in bed, hand groping for a dagger that Tony hadn’t even realized he’d had nearby.

The knight put his nose in a little danger, rubbing at his eyes with one knuckle, the dagger still in his hand. “Wha?”

“The hoard has spilled over,” Tony said mournfully, stretching out his neck to peer over the side of the little table.

The coins had multiplied. Doubled and then doubled again. It was a little more than Tony was used to. Maybe the concentration of dragons at home diverted the flow from Tony’s hoard.

Or maybe it was only that somewhat more than nothing was impressive, in Bucky’s minimal surroundings.

Bucky had put the dagger down -- truly a fine piece, elfin worked -- and was on the floor, surrounded by Tony’s hoard. “Great _gods_ ,” he said. He scooped up a handful and let it pour from his fingers to ring against the floor again, trickling like rain. “Uh… I might need to invest in a better door.”

That didn’t make sense to Tony. Of _course_ they needed a better door-- the winter had been getting in for months, but silver wouldn’t keep the heat in any better. Bucky flipped the coin over his fingers, dancing it between his knuckles; a slight-of-hand trick so quick that Tony could only barely see, and that if he payed attention.

But then, perhaps Tony could not count on humans to understand the needs of dragons. “No,” he said patiently. “I need a bigger lair, so the hoard can spread out under me.” He thought about it for a moment. “You are a knight. I could use your shield, turned over, like a bowl.” He cupped his claws in demonstration. “Then the hoard would not spill! At least, until it is bigger.”

Bucky considered it, tipping his head to one side. “That’s fair,” he said. “Is it-- I don’t know, comfortable? I would think a pillow would be more appropriate to sleep on. Although, dragons get pretty big. Not sure you could get a pillow big enough, when you’re full-grown. Not to mention trying to keep it clean...” He seemed almost to be talking to himself.

It took him a few moments to unhook the leather straps from the wall with only one hand, and he nearly dropped the shield before catching it by the end like a dinner plate. “My crest,” he said, putting it on the floor, star-side up. “The star that guides us.” He traced the design with his fingers, then flipped it over. “Here we go.”

“The star is red, like my scales,” Tony observed gleefully. “It is good!” He clambered over the lip of the shield, making it tip and roll a little, and curled up in the center of it, eyeing the slight curve. It would hold rather a nice hoard before Tony had to worry about pieces falling away. “Yes, good. Bring the hoard.”

“Bossy little thing,” Bucky said, grinning. “You remind me of my friend Steve: tiny, but fierce.” The coins made a comforting, sparkling sound as Bucky tossed them into the shield, a few at a time. Tony might have expected him to get bored with it, or to overlook a few of the coins or rings or bracelets -- there were even a few chains of silver links -- but Bucky chased them all down, including looking under his rickety bed for coins that had nearly escaped.

They weren’t particularly large coins, about the size of Bucky’s thumbnail, but when he finished gathering them all up, Bucky whistled. “That’s two hundred and sixteen splits. Or, thirty gold florins.”

Tony looked over the hoard critically. “Only three gold coins,” he corrected. “Those will grow slower, until I am bigger.” He picked up a chain of silver links and examined it. “Good, this is good. Is useful, yes?”

“Well, I meant--” Bucky made a face. “Nevermind, this is neither the place or time to explain human economics.” He lifted the chain. “It’s very pretty. Delicate. Almost like elf-work. Which makes it worth more than the base silver. No one’s going to want to melt it down. Very useful.”

Tony preened. “I have special talent at hoard-growing. Even as an eggling.” It was true; all the other dragons had said so. Well, most of them. Some were just jealous. When Tony grew large, he would command enormous respect at the moots.

Bucky ran his hand through the jumble of coins again, as if enjoying the sound as much as any dragon. “I was… can you swim?”

“Of course,” Tony said. “Until my wings come in. Wings are too delicate for so much water.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Bucky said. “They’d act like big sails, and water’s heavy. Huh. Come on then; we’ve enough here for a private bathing room, which will get us both warm and clean.” He ran his hand through shaggy hair. “And maybe I’ll see a barber.”

“Warm is nice,” Tony agreed. He climbed back out of the shield and into Bucky’s waiting hand, climbing up to perch contentedly on Bucky’s shoulder. “I am ready.”

Bucky plucked four coins out of the hoard and shoved the entire shield under his bed, dragging the blanket over the side to cover it. “No one should look for it,” he said. “No one has any idea that we have it, so it should be safe enough. For now.”

***

Bucky turned over two coins for a private bath and someone to come in and help him shave and cut his hair. It wasn’t that Bucky couldn’t shave one-handed, but it had seldom been necessary, and it was an ordeal. With so many different problems turning up from being one-handed, basic grooming had been one of the first things that Bucky had pitched under the horse cart.

The bathing room was thick with sweet smelling steam and Bucky was happy that he had new clothes to change into, rather than putting his old rags back on. No one even looked askance at him, a one-armed man. Nicer clothes, and the fact that he held his chin a little higher, knowing he had a good friend, a partner, at his back. Or in this case, on his shoulder and occasionally sticking a leathery nose in his ear.

Stark had scrupulously hidden while Bucky’s grooming was being attended to, but as soon as the barber had left, he was curiously examining the difference, rubbing the top of his head against Bucky’s now-smooth face like a cat. “Humans cut off their scales!” he announced, for probably the tenth time. “What of your protection? You are already so soft!”

Bucky rubbed at his chin; the little dragon snuggling on him felt nice. “I don’t think my beard was gonna stop a real determined sword. That’s why we wear armor, if we’re going to war. As for footpads and ruffians, well, the best advice for that is not to be where the blow is headed. It’s been a while since I got into a tussle, and I don’t think I’d do really well, being down a limb. But I know a trick or two.”

Bucky climbed into the hot water, letting the bath soothe away his aches and pains. He’d not let anyone see his amputation before, but he supposed, to a dragon, he was already pretty unattractive, so it didn’t matter. He glanced at, and then away, from the mirror on the wall, not wanting to see how thin he’d gotten.

“Here, hold still a minute,” Bucky told the dragon, who was busy climbing up his knees to jump back into the water. He dug around in the basket of soaps and unguents and brushes and-- ah! He pulled out a smaller brush. “Think you’d like this?” He got it wet, rubbed it in some sandalwood soap and offered it to the dragon.

Stark eyed the bristles curiously, then rubbed his head against them, the same way he’d been rubbing against Bucky’s face a moment ago. “Oh! I like it!” He curled around to rub the rest of his scales against the brush, wiggling comically to scratch against it, nearly overbalancing and falling off Bucky’s knee into the water. “Better than tree bark for itches!”

“The poor tree,” Bucky said. He’d seen trees where big bears had used them to scratch at shedding coats; the trees had not come out ahead of those encounters. “Does well for your scales, too. Makes ‘em all shiny.”

It hadn’t occurred to him that a dragon’s scales, while feeling like leather, would be metallic, but brushed and polished and clean, Stark shone like he was made of the very gold and rubies that were his hoard. Or would be, when he grew up. At the moment, if he stood still, he might have been mistaken for a rich person’s ornamental statue. “Go on, look in the mirror.”

Tony swam to the ledge where Bucky had pointed and climbed up. He gasped in delight when he saw himself. “I am _even more beautiful_ ,” he said. He twisted back and and forth, nearly curling into a complete circle to admire his scales. Then he turned to consider Bucky. “Are you more beautiful, too?” he wondered. “You are pinker. Do humans like pinker? You smell nicer. Is it the bubbly stuff?” He climbed into the basket to examine the soaps.

“Yeah, it gets the dirt off, and old skin,” Bucky said. “I don’t know if pinker is nice, but humans like… clean skin, muscles. Nice clothes. Hard to believe, but I was once considered very handsome. Quite th’ catch, as the society mamas would have it. Now I’m just a skinny, washed up old beggar.” That was depressing. But, if Stark stayed for any amount of time, maybe there’d be enough money for a bigger house. A larger house, and he might -- maybe -- be able to find a helpmate.

Or Steve, of course. His fancy scullery job at the castle wouldn’t hold for much longer. The next time Steve caught a cold and missed working for a few days, he’d probably get the boot.

Stark’s head cocked to the side. “Skinny is easy to fix,” he pointed out. “ _Washed up_ is good, yes? Humans like _clean_ , you said!”

“Well, I suppose that’s true,” Bucky said. “Bet I can get up into the Keep easier, not looking so much like a panhandler. If you’re up for meeting someone new, we might give it a try. I think my friend Steve would be fascinated. And I’d like someone to know. In case something happens, somewhere for you to go, so someone would take care of you.”

Stark huffed out a little spurt of lightning. “I can take care of myself,” he reminded Bucky haughtily. “But I will meet your friend, if you like.”

“You’re very fierce, and I wouldn’t want to try to stuff you in a cage if you didn’t want to go there, but it don’t mean other people wouldn’t try it. Here, away from dragon’s territory? Just one of you and thousands of men? You’d get hurt. And I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Stark sat back, mollified. “That’s true. There are far too many humans.”

“Had a friend back with the knights,” Bucky said absently, toweling his hair off, “who used to tell me there were more beetles in the world than people. He was fascinated by bugs, ants, and the like.”

“Beetles do not try to kill dragons, though.” Stark dove into the water and swam through it like a snake until he was close enough to climb back up on Bucky’s knee. “Or kidnap us. Many humans are very rude. Bugs and ants only go about their own lives.”

“We kinda are a pretty rude bunch,” Bucky agreed. “Someone told us once we were made in the image of the gods, and it kinda went to our heads.” He paused, then asked, “There are dragon gods, too, though? I mean, I don’t think they’re any more involved in your lives than our gods are in ours, but they… do you have gods?”

“Of course,” Stark said, delicately climbing Bucky’s arm to perch on his shoulder. “There is the First Dragon, who laid the Great Egg. All the stars in the sky are Her hoard.”

“That’s an impressive hoard,” Bucky decided. He got out of the bath, pulled his clothes on over damp skin. “Here.” He rubbed a little oil on Stark’s scales; it would keep mites off, and it smelled good. Like mint and camphor. Reminded him of nights when Steve’s Ma would rub liniment on his chest, and the two boys would share a bed to stay warm. “I think th’ hood on this jerkin will make a good place for you to nap, if you want, and the shoulder’s reinforced, so you don’t have to mind your claws as much. My skin’s a bit soft, as you keep reminding me.”

“Yes,” Stark agreed. “It is most worrisome. I don’t want to damage you.” He slithered off Bucky’s shoulder and into the hood of the jerkin. “Yes, good,” he pronounced. “Better if there were a few coins.”

Bucky dropped the few coins he had from Stark’s horde into the hood, like it was a big pocket. “Here you go.”

He tipped the bathkeeper on his way out, and headed up to the castle. Steve… Steve was going to flip out. And then he was going to reach for his sketchbook.


	6. Art Interlude 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Art this week from [AnonEHouse](https://www.flickr.com/photos/eclectic_house/46656497185/in/dateposted-public/), [Monobuu](http://monobuu.tumblr.com/), and [FeignedSobriquet](http://feignedsobriquet.tumblr.com/)

Here is Tiny Dragon Tony with the silver shoe buckle by AnonEHouse

 

 

 Derpy Tony by Monobuu

 

 

Tony Stacking the Hoard

 

Dragon with griddlecake

 

The Hoard has spilled over -- by feignedsobriquet

 


	7. Chapter 7

The castle was in a state of high excitement. Chambermaids were gossiping in the courtyard while they hung the laundry. Piles and piles of it, as if something had gotten in the linens room and made a mess.

The guards were on alert, but not, Bucky said, about possible threats coming from the outside. They gripped their weapons tightly, but didn’t even question Bucky as he made his way in. Some ran around, from the magazine to the keep and back, carrying different polearms or swords. And the stableboys were busy taking all the horses from the royal stables and leading them out to the pastures beyond the city walls.

Tony was fairly certain all the activity was not caused by his particular human taking a bath and getting some nicer clothing.

“What a ruckus,” Bucky said. “I wonder if we’re goin’ to war.”

“Will you be called to fight?” Tony wondered. “Silly humans. War is the _worst_ way to solve anything.”

Bucky reached across and tucked his hand under his stump, like he was checking to see if it regrew. Tony didn’t think humans could regrow limbs. Dragons could. Sometimes. But it would severely limit potential growth in the future, so it was a careful decision.

“I ain’t gonna argue with that,” Bucky said. “Especially as the people doing all the fighting, and ergo the dying and getting maimed, aren’t the ones who benefit from which side kills the most. We were sold on the idea of glory, and despite the poets who say war is hell, we keep buying the glory, rather than the gory.”

Bucky ducked into a smaller hallway, thick with servants, and went all the way to the end, where he emerged in a huge kitchen. There were multiple fires going, and fancy human-made ovens of brick, and pot-bellied stoves of metal. A trio of boys were up to their elbows in soapy water, washing piles of dishes.

“Buck!” One of the boys said, and then scrambled to his feet. “Man, come on this way, have I got some good gossip for you!” The boy -- on closer inspection, he was probably of similar age to Bucky, but short and scrawny. Even as skinny as Bucky complained that he was getting, he had build compared to this man.

They ended in a dirty courtyard that Tony recognized.

Where the middenheap was.

“So, the Princess,” the boy said, panting for breath, his lungs working uneasily, “has got herself a dragon!”

“Not anymore she doesn’t,” Bucky said, affronted. “Which is what I wanted to tell you about. Stark? Come on out. We can trust Steve.”

Tony sniffed at the air cautiously, making sure no other humans were close by, then crawled out of Bucky’s hood and onto his shoulder to study Steve.

Steve looked underfed. Even the dragons who claimed to enjoy the taste of human flesh would turn their noses up at him; more bone than meat. His eyes were very blue, though, shining with intelligence and excitement.

“Hello,” Tony said politely.

“You’re kidding, right?” Steve asked. “This isn’t a _dragon,_ this is a lizard with pretensions. The Princess has got a _real_ dragon-- about the size of a dog and eight times as mean.”

“Steve Rogers!” Bucky gasped.

Tony drew himself up indignantly. “The Princess cast me aside, too, as being too small. _Useless_.” He held onto Bucky’s ear. “Why do so many humans think that worth is a function of size?”

Bucky looked at Steve, who was shorter and thinner than most humans. “I don’t know,” he said, solemnly. “Steve is my best friend, and I’ve never known him lacking because of his size. Maybe, sometimes, because of his mouth. Which takes on debts that his body cannot pay back in full.”

“Sorry,” Steve said. “It’s nice to meetcha. Just… you should see the dragon that Princess Whit-less has.”

“If you get caught using that nickname, someone’s going to flog you, or worse,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think you _like_ gettin’ hit. So, tell me about this other dragon. Have you seen it?”

“ _Everyone’s_ seen it,” Steve exclaimed. “It busted out of the spell her Highness’s wizard cooked up, and ran rampant around the palace until they netted it up but good and Skurge knocked it on the head a few times with that big axe of his.”

“They killed it?”

Tony growled. “They would dare?!” Human knights rode into the mountains all the time to try to kill dragons, but they seemed to only be interested in the big ones. And killing a captive was terribly dishonorable.

Of course, what could Tony expect from the sort of humans who would use dark magic to kidnap a dragon in the first place?

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just knocked it out, and locked it up with a magic chain.  Last I heard, they had it down in the wine cellars. Poor thing. I don’t think it liked our voices any. Kept screaming about ‘tones.’”

Tony gasped and scrambled up on top of Bucky’s head, leaning close to peer at Steve. “This dragon, does he have steel scales and bright red eyes?”

“Huh, yeah,” Steve said. “He’s about-- so big, I think? And he can fly. A little bit, but it seems to make him tired. He landed up on the outbuilding-- over there, and crashed right through the roof.”

Tony screeched in fury. “My Rhodey! They are mistreating my Rhodey!” He nearly toppled off Bucky’s head. “We must free him!”

“Don’t you be setting my hair on fire,” Bucky told him. “What’s a Rhodey? This is… a friend? Mate?”

Tony scoffed. “Not mate. But friend, yes! Since we were egglings! We must rescue him!”

Bucky tipped his head, eyes fixing from point to point on the Keep, as if mentally mapping it out. “We could do it, maybe,” he said. “With some help.”

“Buck, you can’t be serious,” Steve said, eyes round. “I mean, you talk about me bitin’ off more than I can chew. You’re really considering making a raid on our own castle?”

“I am speaking of not imprisoning, or enslaving a living, sentient creature that has done no wrong to the kingdom,” Bucky said.

“A _raid_ will not be necessary,” Tony added. “We can sneak in and back out again. No one will know!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve said. “Mysterio’s got wards up around the cellars. Everyone will know. You’ll be hunted down, killed, exiled at the best. Your name will be stricken from the roster.”

“My name does me a fat lot of good as it is now,” Bucky said. “And I won’t have any hand in a kingdom that supports slavery. It’s… it’s bullying, and it’s wrong.”

“Never was much for bullies,” Steve said. “Do we have a plan, or are we just gonna wing it?”

“I do not have wings yet,” Tony pointed out.

“Gotcha. No plan,” Steve said.

“You do not have to help,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, I kinda do, Buck. It’s… you’re all I got.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Until the end of the line,” he said.

“Til the end of the line, pal,” Steve answered, like it was some sort of prayer, or code phrase. “What can I do to help?”

“We probably gotta figure out how Mysterio is summoning dragons in the first place, or he’s just gonna keep popping this one and his friend back. Or worse, _bigger_ ones.”

Tony considered that. “A bigger one might eat the wizard and the princess,” he offered hopefully.

“And he might eat the kitchen staff or the horses, or knock over a wall,” Bucky said. “Which’ll hurt people who ain’t involved in this and don’t deserve to be hurt. Best if we get you two out of here, and prevent this from happening again. Before Mysterio gets the dragon elders’ attention, in which case, we all die.”

That was probably true. The elders did not much care for humans to begin with. “He must have something belonging to a dragon,” Tony guessed. “A scale or a tooth or a drop of blood. If we find it and take it, he can’t summon another one of us.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “It shouldn’t be hard to find. Steve, you round up some transport, a way for us to get ourselves and the dragons out of the city walls. And don’t let anyone know who you are! Or you’ll--”

“What? Get thrown in the midden heap? Happened before pal, I can handle it,” Steve said.

“Well, you two do have that much in common. First meetings taking place in the trash,” Bucky said.

“First, we will go to this cellar and discover how to free my Rhodey,” Tony said decisively.

Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid until we get back.”

Steve scoffed. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“Did he just call me stupid?” Tony screeched.

***

Bucky snagged a cloak from the washing line, deep green. It belonged to one of her Highness’s huntsmen. “I hope the Princess hasn’t taken a lover, just yet,” he said. He ducked into another hallway, pulled the cloak up to shade his face.

Near the small breakfast parlor, Bucky started pushing at the wall. “Where is it… ah!”

The door was painted specifically to resemble the wall around it. Not quite a secret door, but a discreet one. Bucky bent to examine the door, touching the smooth tiles. Not dirty, no, but a little dust. The passageway hadn’t been used since the Prince was alive, at least. He’d snuck women out of the royal quarters all the time.

“Safe enough,” he decided and moved in. The door slid closed behind them, enclosing them in darkness. “There should be a candle or a lamp some ways down the hall. There used to be, at any rate.”

“A secret door!” Stark squeaked excitedly. “Yay!” He climbed down Bucky, and Bucky heard the faint click of his claws on the stone floor, growing fainter. Scratching and scurrying, then, that Bucky devoutly _hoped_ was Stark and not rats.

A flare of white-hot lightning, and then there was a warm candle’s glow, Stark curled smugly around the candlestick. “Where does it lead?” he asked when Bucky picked up the candle.

“A number of places,” Bucky said. “To the north, up the stairs, to the Royal bedrooms. To the south, an escape route for the family, if the castle should be besieged. And this way… well, this leads to the wine cellars. Built back in the days of King Phillips, who was a notable drunkard, but didn’t want to deal with his wine steward every time he wanted a drink.”

“How do you know so much?” Stark clawed his way back up onto Bucky’s shoulder. “You’re very clever, for a human.”

“Steve was sick a lot, when we were kids,” he said. For that matter, Steve was still, quite often, very ill. “I used to sit with him, when he was feeling too poorly to get out of bed, but he got bored, so I had to keep him entertained, if I wanted him to not get up anyway and hurt himself that much worse. So, I read to him. History, novels, plays, poems. Books are pretty dear, but Steve’s got a neat hand and a skill for drawing and illuminating, so when he’s feeling better, he could make copies from the library, which he did in exchange for us being able to read them.”

“Clever,” Stark said smugly, as if it were entirely his own doing. “Dragons tell stories, too, but we don’t have books. We--” He paused, head tipping back and forth as he peered into the darkness. “We’re growing close,” he said. “I can feel the magic.”

Bucky shuddered. “I don’t know anything about magic,” he admitted. “But if we can get a look at it, I might… well, I don’t know, really. Let’s at least talk to your friend, so he can know we’re here.”

He opened a huge oak cask, that had once held wine, and smelled of sour grape and rotten wood, and walked through it into the wine cellar. Thousands of dusty bottles lined the walls, enough to get everyone in the castle drunk and then some.

“Reserved for the King’s table only,” Bucky said, plucking up one bottle. The label was gilded around the edges. He carefully put it back. “Worth a man’s life, to drink the King’s wine. This-- they’d keep him in the corking room, I expect. There’s a big lock on the door.”

Bucky blew out the candle. Enough light filtered in from the wine cellar to keep him from being completely blinded. The extra light would draw attention, a shadow moving on the wall. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and listened. Listened to the moments between his heartbeats, feeling, more than hearing, if there were any other people nearby.

Two, he thought, but they’d be looking for people coming down the stairs, not through the racks. If he was quick, and quiet, he could get by without being seen. Especially if they were distracted. He patted at his pockets until he found one of the lumps of silver from Stark’s hoard. It looked enough like a rock, he thought he could get away with it.

“Be extremely quiet,” he told Stark in a soft voice, creeping forward a few paces at a time, until he had an angle on the doorway.

Stark... hissed. Soft and sibilant, like a snake. And suddenly, from the far side of the door, came a rattle and a roar and the sound of claws scraping furiously on stone.

Bucky pitched the pebble of silver, away from the door, toward the far wall. It bounced and rattled until it came to a halt, out of sight of the guards.

“You think that wretch’s gonna knock the wall down?”

“Doubt it,” the other said.

“Wha-- did you hear that?”

The second insisted he couldn’t hear anything the way the beast was carrying on, and the first insisted he had heard something, for long enough that Bucky was beginning to think he was going to need to knock the two of their heads together and risk being caught out. But finally, the two guards went to check out the potential noise.

“Tell your friend to be quiet. And also not to eat me,” Bucky said.

He darted across the hall, and with a quick shove of his dagger, picked the lock. It wasn’t a difficult lock, more designed to keep people from casually walking in than to really keep out a determined thief. A dragon, on the other hand, probably couldn’t open it.

Not from the inside, at any rate.

Bucky opened the door, slipped in, and pressed himself against the wall, praying that he wasn’t about to become lunch for a half-grown dragon.


	8. Chapter 8

Rhodey hitched in a huge breath as soon as the door closed, but the collar around his neck sang its evil song, vibrations running from the wall, down the chain, and into the collar around the dragon’s neck. Rhodey shrieked, beat at the air with his wings, lashed his tail, but let the breath out without setting the room on fire.

Which was probably good, because Rhodey was several clutches older than Tony, and his breath was, therefore, several times more deadly.

Bucky was not the least bit fire-proofed, either.

“Rhodey!” Tony scurried down Bucky’s arm and flung himself at Rhodey. “Oh thank the Egg, you’re okay! It’s okay, we’re going to get you out of there!”

Tony found himself scooped up by silvery wings and practically flattened against Rhodey’s shoulder. “Where the hell you been? Next time, you stay with me. You hear me?”

Bucky flattened himself against the wall as footsteps came back toward the door. “Hide!” he hissed at Tony.

There was a rattle of metal against wood as the bolt drew back and the window portal opened. “Quiet it down in there, beast, else I’ll summon th’ mage.”

Tony waited until the guard shut the window again and then squirmed free of Rhodey’s hold. “Just hold still,” he told Rhodey. “I’ll get you free.” He climbed up to Rhodey’s shoulder and examined the collar. “More blood magic,” he said distastefully.

“You ain’t gonna bite me, are you?” Bucky took a hesitant step forward, impressed, as everyone ought to be, with how huge and strong Rhodey was. Of course, he was not even close to full grown either. The great elders, who rarely stirred themselves, could cover acres of forest in the shadow of their wings. “My name’s Bucky-- I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Rhodey snorted a tiny fireball. “I should say not, _human_.”

Tony smacked Rhodey’s neck. “Be nice. He’s been very polite. Unlike the so-called _royalty_ in this horrid place.” He shot a little flash of lightning at the collar just so he could see it better. “I can get this off, but I’ll need tools. And more time than we have.” He grumbled, and scraped a claw over the links of the chain. “Magic,” he reported. “Probably vibranium. Can’t cut it or melt it.”

Bucky fingered the length of chain. “Here’s a tip I learned when I was a captive,” he said. “Chains are strong. Sometimes walls, not so much.” He traced the chain back to the wall where it was attached to a heavy bolt in the stone. “This is cast iron. Hit it with as much lightning as you can get, an’ I can crack it right off.”

“See?” Tony said to Rhodey. “Clever!” He darted down the length of Rhodey’s wing and eyed the iron bolt. Yes, that was much better. “Step back, Sir Bucky.” He filled his lungs until he thought he might topple over, and then let loose with a blast that seared the stone wall and left one edge of the iron bolt glowing.

“Cover your face,” Bucky told the dragons, then poured water from his waterskin over the glowing metal. There was a sharp sound, like a boulder breaking. “Not quite--” He flipped his knife and struck the pommel against the metal, which practically exploded into sharp, heated fragments. Bucky made a muffled sound, clenching his jaw. “Got it!”

He slid the chain out of the broken ring. “Freedom.”

Tony glanced toward the door. “We should leave quickly,” he said. “In case they decide to look in.”

“You’re going to want to watch this, until we get that collar off you,” Bucky cautioned. He scowled, then looped the chain over Rhodey’s neck and shoulders a few times, tucking the end into the collar. “I don’t know if that’s going to be too heavy.”

“I can handle heavy,” Rhodey said. He fluttered his wings a few times, lifting from the ground no higher than Tony was tall before landing ungently. “I can run.”

Tony nodded and climbed up onto Rhodey’s head, holding on tightly to his spikes. “Sir Bucky, if they see you running with us, they will be even less kind to you than now. You may wish to hide and find your way out more stealthily?”

“Make a distraction,” Bucky suggested. “We still need to get that summoning item. I’ll detour up to Mysterio’s workshop. Set it on fire, if nothing else.” Bucky took several deep breaths. “They’re coming--” He flipped his knife again and set his feet.

As soon as the guard opened the door, Bucky was a blur of motion, knife moving with skill. He grabbed one, cracked his head against the wall, stabbing the other in the leg. When he went down, Bucky kneed him in the face.

Down, injured, but not dead, in less time than it had taken Rhodey to inhale for a fireball.

“There’s a way to the surface down this way--”

“Tones, where did you dig this guy up?”

“He found me!” Tony said. “The princess threw me away and he found me and took me home. Fed me and gave me a warm place to sleep and -- he’s a good one, Rhodey!”

“You can argue about my relative merits later,” Bucky interrupted when it seemed like Rhodey was going to balk. “Don’t bite me, I ain’t got time for it.” Bucky crouched, scooped Rhodey up around the middle and hauled him out of the wine cellar like he was a fat sheep.

Tony cackled gleefully, and ran up Bucky’s arm to wrap around his neck like a draconian collar. “We shall be victorious!”

“Think lighter thoughts,” Bucky said, panting for breath. “You’re heavier than you look.” He ducked them into a poorly lit room, letting the door close behind them. Footsteps thundered past them in the corridor. “Alarm’s about to go off, boys--”

Tony jumped to the wall and climbed down to the door to peer through the keyhole. “They’re going right by us!”

“Quietly,” Bucky said. He paused, waiting, then, “let’s move. Split at the corridor, go up and out. If you get into trouble, run for the trees and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can. Go, go now.”

“Be safe, Sir Bucky,” Tony said as he jumped down to land on Rhodey’s back. “We shall keep them distracted from you. Let’s go make a mess, honeybear!”

Rhodey was faster than Tony simply by dint of having longer legs. They dashed for the stairs and blundered right into the guards.

“The dragon!” one of them yelled, and tried to grab at the chain wound around Rhodey’s neck. Rhodey bit him. Tony shot a bolt of lightning at the other.

“Come on, let’s go!” Tony shouted gleefully.

“Don’t worry about me, I can hold my own,” Rhodey growled, when Tony was lingering, snapping at one of the guard’s ankles.

“We get through this, _I’ll_ hold your own,” Tony promised.

“You had to make it weird,” Rhodey complained. One of the guard grabbed him by the tail and hauled him backward. Rhodey turned around, his neck flexing, and he spat fire all over the man. “They’re really not that flammable.” He bared his teeth, watching the man shriek and pat the flames out of his beard.

“This way!” Tony said, darting around a corridor, leading them away from Bucky’s path.

A bell started ringing, there was more yelling. “The dragon, the dragon, rally the men--”

“I have a name,” Rhodey snarled. He smacked a tail into one armored soldier, making the man ring like a gong. “Where are we going? There are a lot of these stupid creatures.”

“This way!” Tony called. “Toward the kitchens! There is an exit there!” He shot a rain of sparks at a tapestry on the wall, making it smolder and then burst into flame.

“Where is it, where’s the dragon?” someone demanded.

Rhodey scrambled up the wall, claws tearing chunks out of the stone as he went. He perched on top of the doorway, and when the next guard rushed the room, Rhodey jumped, landing on the man’s head, knocking him to the ground. “Boom! You looking for this?”

Tony jumped onto the next guard who came toward them, digging in his claws the way he’d been careful to avoid with Bucky. Tiny but sharp, they pierced cloth and leather to rake at the skin beneath. Tony scrambled up the guard’s body and took a flying leap from the top of the human’s head, imagining he could feel his wings where they waited to grow. “This way!” he said, and darted down a corridor.

***

Bucky shook his head, listening to the general chaos caused by a pair of fledgling dragons. What idiocy, meddling with sentient creatures like they were oxen. He made his way through the servants’ corridors toward the center keep. Mysterio wasn’t as skilled a magus as Strange had been, before he retired, but Bucky couldn’t imagine why he’d move the workshop.

He paused outside the door to listen, but couldn’t hear anything-- or if there were noises, it was covered by the mayhem in the courtyard.

The door had a huge, glowing ward over the keyhole, more show. Bucky spit on his fingers and wiped it over the sigil, which faded with a hiss.

The library was empty, and Bucky moved through it like a thief.

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, though. A scale, a tooth, a drop of blood. It could be anywhere-- he didn’t have time for this. He’d have to burn the lot, to--

Oh.

The summoning circle was glowing, pale and blue, like a giant star laid out on the floor. Glittering liquid pulsed through the grooves cut in the stone. In the center was a single-- well Bucky assumed it was a single scale. Somewhat larger than Bucky’s shield, a scale, ragged on one edge. It probably hadn’t even been taken in battle, just shed from a creature too huge for Bucky’s imagination to even conjure.

“Right,” Bucky said. He scuffed the glowing line with one foot, but nothing exploded in his face. He crossed the circle and lifted the scale. Light, but awkward. Razor sharp on the edges, kite-shaped. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to destroy it -- dragons were proof against their own breath, so any fire he could make wouldn’t hurt it. He couldn’t smash it and hope to get rid of all the pieces.

“Guess I’m carryin’ it out,” Bucky mused. He searched the library for rope, leather, anythi-- ah, the drapes. He made a crude bundle. Time to leave. He could only hope that the dragons were still safe. That they were making their way out of the castle.

Follow the signs of destruction, Bucky hitched the bundle up onto his shoulder and headed out.

***

“You two are certainly nothing like subtle,” the small human -- Steve, Bucky had called him -- said. “Come on, get in, get in.” He gestured to a crude wagon being pulled by an old, exhausted-looking mule on its very last legs. Even the poor creature’s ears were flopped over. “Into the barrel, no one will look there.”

The barrel that Steve indicated stank of old fish.

“We cannot be a _distraction_ if we are _subtle_ ,” Tony informed Steve loftily. “This barrel smells bad.”

“Thus, why no one’s gonna look in it-- it’s the best way to get you outside, stop arguing and get in.” Steve waggled the lid at them. It was going to be a tight fit, with Rhodey’s bulk and Tony’s inability to sit still.

Rhodey climbed in first, bumping the barrel around as he curled into it. Tony followed, wrinkling up his muzzle and glaring at Steve as the human put the lid on the barrel. “I don’t like this,” Tony grumbled. “Steve is not as nice as Sir Bucky.”

“Lotsa people say that,” Steve said as he tapped the lid into place. “You’re not gonna hurt my feelings.” The barrel tipped suddenly, and then even the dim light between the staves went dark as Steve slid a tarp over the barrels. “Don’t move, don’t make a peep, and we might just live to get out of here.”

Steve climbed onto the wagon and chirped the poor mule into moving.

It was… not comfortable. The barrel stank of rot and the air grew first warm, and then too warm. The mule’s pace was bad, and if Steve had been aiming for every flaw in the road, he could not have done a better job.

Tony didn’t know how long they’d been there, before he heard a familiar voice. “Trouble you to give a crippled war veteran a ride?”

A moment later, Bucky was sitting in the wagon next to the barrel, accompanied by a familiar smell.

_Fury._

“Fury?” Tony gasped. He prodded Rhodey. “Do you smell that?” He sniffed, then coughed. Stupid fish barrel. “I’m not imagining it, am I? He can’t be _here_!”

“Is Fury big as a boat, and sort of smoke-black?” Bucky said in a soft voice, leaning over the barrel.

“His back is, yes. He’s _huge_. He’d eat this whole wagon in one gulp!”

“I have something that belongs to him, then,” Bucky said. “A single scale, and I can wear it on _my_ back like a turtle shell. I think that’s what our mage has been using to conjure you. Steve, can this go any faster?”

“You want to get out and push?”

“How did he get his hands on one of Fury’s scales?” Tony wondered. He pushed at the lid of the barrel, but it was too tight for him to budge. “Where are we going? When can we get out of here?”

“We’re in the city right now. If we can make the wall before dark, we’ll be safe,” Bucky said. “Safe-er, at least. We don’t look important enough to stop.”

“First time you’ve been grateful for that,” Steve commented.

Rhodey shifted. “You’re stepping on my nose, Tones. Move.”

Tony tried to squirm into another position. “I’m trying!” He managed to tuck himself into the curve of Rhodey’s long neck. “Where are we going after we’re out of the city?”

“To see a man about some magic. The Sanctum. And from there-- you’ll have to point the way. All the edges of the maps say _here there be dragons_.”

Tony gasped with delight. “A wizard! Rhodey, did you hear that! We’re off to see the _wizard!_ ”

“I heard, Tones,” Rhodey rumbled. “I’d hear better if you weren’t yelling in my ear.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You know, back when I was recruited for the knights, some Captain asked me, ‘Son, what do you see yourself doing in five years?’” Bucky said, looking up at the Sanctum. “I do not think in any of my flights of fancy, did I ever consider the idea of taking a scullery boy, two undergrown dragons and a length of magic chain to visit a retired, extremely dangerous, wizard. Pretty sure that never even occurred to me.”

“You suffer from a failure of imagination,” Steve said, leaning back in the wagon’s seat to look up at the tower.

The base of the building was squat and ugly, like a repurposed temple to the gods, but after the first floor, it rose in a single, green tower, like glass, reaching for the sky.

There were probably a lot of stairs. A _lot_. And Bucky was willing to bet he was going to have to climb up every single one of them.

“We are not _undergrown_ ,” Stark said indignantly from Bucky’s shoulder. As soon as they’d cleared the city gates, he had refused to go anywhere near the barrel again. “We are exactly the size we are meant to be!” He drew a breath to continue his tirade, but was distracted by the gleam of sun on the crystal of the tower. “Wizard,” he said reverently.

“Show off,” Steve muttered. “Maybe I’ll just stay out here with the cart.”

“Come on,” Bucky said. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

“He’ll turn us into frogs for bothering him?”

“That would be a bad plan on his part, given the lifespan of your average garden frog and their reproductive capabilities. In two years, he could be up to his ears in angry amphibians,” Bucky pointed out.

“You can go lay frog spawn if you want, count me out,” Steve said, but jumped down from the wagon anyway. To the end of the line, they’d always promised each other, and that was going to hold, potential amphibianication or not.

Bucky slung the giant dragon scale over his back by the leather strap they’d jury-rigged for ease of carry. “Let’s get this over with,” Bucky said.

The steps up to the front door wobbled in his sight, seeming taller and more dangerous than they did from further away. A fog crept around his vision, and Bucky heard sounds of battle, far away, but growing closer.

An illusion, to keep visitors away. Bucky kept his purpose firmly in mind, marched up the stairs and kicked the door. “Strange!”

He’d met the man once, back when Strange worked for the King, before the Princess had gathered up the reins of power. Enough to know Strange was not the least bit like Mysterio, greedy and grasping. A little absent-minded, somewhat stern, and exceptionally condescending. But not greedy.

“It _is_ all very strange,” Stark agreed. He leaned way off Bucky’s shoulder to keep looking up at the top of the tower. “What if he can’t hear us?”

“It’s a wizard, Tones,” Rhodey argued. “He can hear whatever he wants.”

“Well, then, what if he doesn’t _want_ to hear us?”

“Set his flowerbed on fire,” Steve suggested, panting for breath.

“Do not--” Bucky started to say when the door swung open. Entirely on its own. It opened on a huge foyer and corridor, much larger than could actually have been contained by the building. “This is a mistake.” Despite that, he took a few steps inside. “Hello? Doctor Strange? You might not-- Holy Gods and all their halfbreeds!”

A man stepped out of the glittering sphere that had just _appeared_ out of nowhere.

“Welcome to the Sanctum, Sir Knight. Mighty ones. Mr. Rogers.” The man flipped a red cloak over his shoulders. “I am Doctor Strange.”

Stark preened a little on his perch. “Doctor Strange,” he said, his tiny voice solemn and formal. “I am Anthony Stark, First Egg and Heir of the Starks. We come in peace, in keeping with the ancient treaty between our peoples.”

“In peace,” Rhodey rumbled in agreement. “We come to you in need.”

“The Starks?” Strange murmured. “I’m honored. This way--” Strange turned and appeared to walk, although it was as if he did so without moving his legs, floating just a little off the floor, the cloak moving around him in non-existent breeze.

There were peculiar items in glass cases that lined the hallway-- much, much longer than anything that could have been contained within the ground floor. “How is this--” Bucky craned his neck, looking around, nearly knocking Stark off his perch with his chin. There were no windows.

“The building is constructed inside an alternate dimension,” Strange said, apparently having heard the question before. “Consider our entire world as one side of a looking glass. Here, we are behind it, contained entirely in a single image.”

“I… don’t think I wanted to know that, really,” Bucky said. “We uh… have a problem with a magic chain and-- kinda need to know where to take our friends here, now that they’re fugitives in the  human world. They don’t really belong here, and I’d like to make sure they get home safely.”

“Bucky and Steve are fugitives now, too,” Stark added. “Were you aware that the sorcerer at the castle is using blood magic?”

“Magician,” Strange said, somewhat disgusted. “Not that the method of his madness is in question. He has a powerful patron among the powerful and otherworldly. A demon king, if you would put it in such terms. Not the sort of creature I wish to confront before tea time, wouldn’t you agree?”

Bucky blinked. “A which? Before what?”

Steve nudged him. “He’s offering us lunch, I think. Say yes, I’m starved.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Thank you?”

Strange waved his hands, purposefully. Bucky wouldn’t have said how he could see that the gestures were magical, except that they clearly _were_. Strange turned and opened a door that Bucky could have sworn wasn’t there before Strange touched the doorknob. He… did not like magic very much, Bucky decided.

But inside the room were tables and chairs, plates and piles of food, and Bucky wasn’t about to say no to hospitality. In all the lands, sharing wine and breaking bread made a man the same as your brother until the next morning.

Bucky could use a bit of brotherly assistance.

“If you’d be so kind,” Bucky said, “I think Rhodes, here, would be more comfortable eating if he didn’t have this chain all over him.”

“I’d be more comfortable doing ‘most anything without this chain all over me,” Rhodes agreed. He climbed up onto a chair and stretched up on his hind legs so Strange could see the chain where it was wrapped around his neck.

“Hmmm.” Strange pulled out a glass monocle and examined the chain, making thoughtful noises. He stretched the chain out, unwrapped it. Looked at how it joined with itself, seamlessly, around Rhodes’ neck. “Vibranium. Tricky. Well, the best solution to this would be if it never happened to begin with.”

“Well, yes,” Stark agreed. “But it did happen.”

“Can you fix it?” Rhodes added hopefully. “I don’t want to be wearing this thing forever.”

“Time is a flexible sort of thing,” Strange said, making a gesture near a necklace around his throat, huge and tacky and golden. And intricate. As Strange gestured, the necklace moved and shifted and… opened. Casting the whole room into a ghostly green light. “When… all your whens exist within your grasp, it is a simple thing… for a thing to never have happened at all.” He reached out and touched the chain, which curled and writhed like a snake, each link breaking apart and ringing to the floor. By the time the noise reached a crescendo, the metal was gleaming hot and red, and…

...turned into a series of ingots, stamped with a stylized panther head.

“And, thus,” Strange said. “Let’s see your magician undo that.”

“He doesn’t belong to me, he’s the Princess’s magician,” Bucky protested.

Rhodes snaked his head around, testing his movement, and then made a formal-looking little bow. “My thanks, wizard.”

“Yay!” Stark cheered. “Can we eat now?”

“Certainly,” Strange said. He waved his hand over the variety of food, and Bucky noticed for the first time that his hands were gnarled and covered with thick, red scars.

He wondered if that was the price for magic, a payment for power. It didn’t seem right to ask. “Thank you.”

“I will take one of these in payment,” Strange said. “You may keep the rest, a reparation for your captivity.” He took a seat and picked up a bowl of fragrant, hot soup, cradling it in those broken hands. “From what lands do you hail? I know many maps, and even some of the secret roads.”

“Manhattan,” Stark said. “Well, I am. Rhodey’s not, but if you can get us to Manhattan, then he can get home from there easily enough.”

“Some portion of the way,” Strange agreed. “By rights and agreements, I cannot simply open a portal in dragon lands-- but just outside, near the Hudson, perhaps? Can you find your way home from there? I know that’s Hydra territory, but if you’re quick, and quiet, you can get in and out before they see you.”

“No problem,” Stark said confidently. “If you can get us so close, we will be in your debt.”

_Hydra_. Bucky shuddered. That was a name he’d heard before. An army of monsters he’d gone to war with. They’d won the war. No one ever said what they’d lost in the process. He rubbed absently at his shoulder stump, feeling the scar tissue underneath the skin. Lost, for a moment, remembering. Even the vast amount of food in front of him didn’t matter anymore.

“Great,” Steve said. “Trolls and goblins. I can’t even hold up a sword.”

“Perhaps not, but...” Tony picked up one of the ingots of vibranium, sniffing it and turning it in his claws. “Do you have a smithy here, wizard?”

“Here, in a relative sense, yes,” Strange said. “Finish your luncheon and I will show it to you, to see if it will meet your needs?”

***

“I’ve heard many things about your family line and your skill with metalwork,” Strange said, floating down the hall, the Cloak projecting a bristling aura all the way around him. Tony was forced to scamper after the sorcerer, rather than take a shoulder perch. At least Strange didn’t move too quickly. Tony had gotten used to Sir Bucky carrying him around.

“We’re very talented in that area, yes,” Tony said. It was no more nor less than the truth. “I’ve never had the chance to work vibranium before, but I’ve studied it extensively. Did you know it’s one of the few metals that no dragon has ever been able to multiply?”

“I believe I read that,” Strange said. “I’ve not had a lot of conversation with your people, Mighty One, but some of my predecessors have recorded such wisdom. The fire here is magically tended, and can reach immense heat. I’m afraid all the tools, however, are shaped for human kind, and not particularly well-shaped for you.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Tony said. “Might need to jury-rig something. Bucky might be agreeable to working the hammer for me.”

“You’re a fairly young dragon, so this--” Strange indicated a necklace, hanging inside a crystal bell. “--might be of some help. As long as you’re no older than an adult human.” He paused, considering. “That’s less than ninety years, in case you haven’t done much study of humans. If you’re older than that, well, there are many spells, and no doubt you’ll learn some of them in your own time. But this one would either kill you instantly, or simply not work. It’s not been attempted, so I’m uncertain as to the results. The magic is probably not more powerful than the natural defenses dragons have against things like that.”

“I’m forty-two,” Tony said, peering at the necklace. “What does it do?”

“Well, then it should work well enough,” Strange said. “Here, stand up for a moment, easier to show you--” He held the necklace out, a delicate chain with a gemstone that was nearly the size of Tony’s whole head.

Tony considered it, but dragon magic was innate, and he hadn’t learned enough of human magic to untangle the web of spells tied into the gem. None of it felt malevolent, though. He grasped the chain delicately in his claws and looped it over his neck.

And then he felt very, very peculiar. Like his body was twisting around inside itself. He’d eaten a snake once which hadn’t appreciated being lunch. This was something like that, but… more.

Tony reached up hands to take the necklace off-- hands.

Human hands. He was looking down at _human hands_.

The room suddenly seemed much smaller, and when he looked at Strange, he had to adjust his gaze down from where he’d expected to find the man. _Much_ further down; Strange’s head was nearly on level with Tony’s, now.

Or more precisely, Tony’s was nearly on level with _Strange’s_. He looked back his... hands. And his body. And his feet, which were suddenly very, very far away. “What... What did you do to me?”

“Well, aren’t you ruggedly handsome,” Strange murmured. “Nothing you won’t eventually be able to do yourself.” He gestured and a silver mirror appeared on the wall in front of them, showing Strange and-- another human, dressed in clothing similar to Strange’s, except red and gold, like Tony’s scales.

“A transmutation?” Tony lifted the gem on the chain and examined it again. He could still _see_ like a dragon. Mostly. The magic around him seemed faded and dull, despite ample evidence that it was anything but. “I’ll turn back when I take the necklace off?”

“Indeed,” Strange said. “The necklace has limited power. You may remove it whenever you like, but after that, you must let it recharge itself for sunrise to sunset. If you take it off at noon, you must wait until sunset the _following day._ Until you remove it, the change is permanent.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “This will be a help,” he agreed. He wiggled his fingers. They moved somewhat differently than his draconic digits, but he thought he could make use of them well enough. “My thanks. Now, show me your smithy. I have plans!”

Strange moved down the hall a little further and opened another door; Tony couldn’t quite figure how long the corridor must be, and the rooms seemed placed sporadically. He’d need a guide to make his way in this place, or a trail of breadcrumbs.

The smithy looked as if it had been dwarven-made, gorgeous and well-appointed. The forge itself was a marvel, a single carved basin heated with enchanted lavastones.

“This will, I hope, serve your needs?”

“Oh, this will do _nicely_ ,” Tony purred. He approached the forge and felt the heat of it baking out. “That is -- if you will grant my companions and me refuge for a few nights? A week at most.”

“As you say,” Strange said, bowing his head. “Just call to the room if you need anything.”

“Well, for starters I could use the rest of that vibranium,” Tony said. He picked up a hammer, feeling the heft of it in his strange human hands, the bunch and flex of the muscle under his skin. Yes, this body would do nicely. Though it was so _hot_ in here, and Tony didn’t know if that was because he was in a human shape, or because of the magical nature of the fire. He stripped off the outer layer of the clothes, fumbling only a little with the catches, careful not to snare the necklace in the collar and accidentally remove it before he was ready.

When he turned around, the vibranium was waiting for him on the worktable, neatly stacked. “That _is_ handy.” He offered Strange a little bow, the way he had seen Bucky do it, bending from the waist rather than the neck. “My thanks, wizard. Truly, you have done us a great service. The Starks are in your debt.”

“Enjoy,” Strange told him. “I have work of my own, and if you will… excuse me…” He vanished from sight, words lingering in the air as he went.

Tony blinked at the now-empty space where the wizard had stood. “Wizards are _very_ strange,” he remarked to absolutely no-one, and then turned to begin his work.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-averse readers: Some smuts happen in this chapter; be aware of your own comfort level!

Bucky stopped trying to make sense of how the Sanctuary was laid out -- other dimension or no other dimension, he would have thought the natural laws should remain the same, but apparently he would have been wrong -- as soon as he saw the bedroom that Strange’s astral servant led him to.

Richly furnished with an enormous four-poster bed, thick carpet, artwork on the walls. Down pillows. A side room for changing clothes (not that Bucky had more than two sets of clothes) and another side room with chairs and _books_ and a huge fireplace, and yet another that was a private bath.

“Sign me up to be a sorcerer in the next life,” Bucky whispered, running his hand over the blanket. There was a silver bowl of fruit in the reading room, and Bucky helped himself to an orange as he inspected the rest of the room. He dragged two chairs out of the reading room and set them up in the bedroom, using the arms to form a cradle. He piled a pillow and some blankets in it, for Stark. Added a handful of nuts from the fruit bowl; he rather thought Stark might like them.

The bathing room had a deep, clawfoot tub and piped in water. He was still going to have to warm it by the fire, but the luxury seemed beyond compare. He got to work, setting the water to heat. While the water heated, he inspected the books from the reading room, finally selecting an old play about a crazy knight who set his lance at windmills, thinking they were giants.

Finally, bath ready, book selected, Bucky stripped and climbed into the tub, perfectly content to spend the next few hours turning into a prune.

He was deep into the mad knight’s adventures when the door to the bathing room opened to reveal a man somewhat older than Bucky, with rich, elegant clothes, expressive whiskey-brown eyes, and a neatly-trimmed beard. His face and hands were liberally smeared with soot.

Bucky squeaked, fumbled the book -- onto the floor and not into the water, so there was that, at least -- and grabbed for the towel. “Excuse me!”

The man rolled his eyes as he strode past Bucky to the basin and poured out a bowl of water. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” he said, picking up a cloth to dunk in the water, “we took a bath together just last week! There’s no point in being shy _now_.” He wrung the cloth out and began to wipe off his face. There was something in the way the man tipped his head as he scrubbed at his neck--

“ _Stark_?” Bucky’s voice spiralled up and broke. He was exceptionally aware of how naked he was, and-- good lord, was that even humanly possible? Stark still walked like a dragon, all sinuous sway, but with human anatomy, it only served to accentuate a very rounded backside, and…

Bucky moved the towel hastily to cover up the bit of his anatomy that, while Stark had seen it before, it hadn’t been in that particular condition before. “How-- you could have knocked!”

Stark’s head cocked exactly the same way it had as a dragon. “I never have before.”

“You didn’t look like _that_ before!”

Stark huffed. “What does what I look like have to do with anything?” He shook his head. “Humans. So focused on what someone _looks_ like! Big, small, dragon, human... I’m still me!”

“I... suppose that’s true enough,” Bucky said. “You certainly mouth off the same, human, dragon or otherwise.” He stretched, trying to reach the larger towel, which was on the wrong side for his off-arm. He had not planned on having a guest while he bathed -- at least, not one bigger than a barn cat. “That said, when you’re not-- human, you’re a little less _distracting_.”

Stark looked down at himself, then back at Bucky. “How am I distracting? I’m just standing here, trying to clean some of this mess off.” He finished scrubbing at his face -- under the soot, it was fine-boned and beautiful -- and went to work on his hands.

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to will himself to relax. It really wasn’t working; he was warm, clean, comfortable, well fed. He felt better about himself and his life than he had in ages. He was a red-blooded human male in the prime of his life, and that… came with certain urges. “Because you are as beautiful a human as you are a dragon,” Bucky said. “And… that puts some very wrong thoughts in my head.”

Stark smiled -- and gods help him, that smile was enough to make Bucky glad he was already sitting down for how weak in the knees it made him -- and said, “I’m glad you think I’m still beautiful even if I look like a human. But why does that lead to thoughts that are wrong?”

“Because when you get right down to where blade meets the bone, you’re a _dragon_ ,” Bucky said. “And I am… only human.”

“I don’t understand,” Stark said. He tossed the filthy cloth down and came to stand beside the tub, hands on his hips as he looked down at Bucky in somewhat impatient confusion. “I have always been a dragon, and you have always been a human. Why is that wrong _now?_ ”

Bucky wondered how long it would take to drown himself and if Stark would prevent it, or just let him expire in his mortification. But he still couldn’t get up and _leave_ , because certain bits of him were being very uncooperative.

And he was going to have to explain, because it was Stark, and Stark always asked questions, and if Bucky didn’t answer them now, he was going to have to do so later. In front of _other people_.

_He really isn’t any different as a dragon than as a man_ , Bucky told himself. The same Stark. That… did not make it any better. Stark was _fascinating_ and he was Bucky’s friend, and it wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t wanted to pet him, and hug him, and maybe kiss him if Stark would allow it, and-- “Because I didn’t want to mate with you, before,” Bucky finally confessed.

“Of course not,” Stark said. “I’m a _tiny_ dragon.” He held up his hands. “Way too small to mate with something as big as a human. It just wouldn’t--” His eyes got big. “You want to mate with me? Like this?”

“The plumbing would, in this particular case, match up,” Bucky said. His cheeks and neck and ears were burning, hotter than the water.

“Hmm,” Stark mused. “But you still haven’t told me what wrong thoughts you’re having.”

Bucky blinked. “You don’t consider that-- wrong?” Maybe it was merely insignificant; after all, Stark was a dragon. The desires, tumultuous as they were, in a human, were hardly a matter of importance. He flushed harder.

“What? Mating? Mating is a natural part of life; why would it be wrong?” Stark shook his head. “Humans are _very_ strange.”

“I’ll agree with that,” Bucky said. “I think there’s any number of people who would say harboring lust for-- someone who’s not of the same species… was _wrong_. Even more people than the ones that say loving someone who’s the same gender is wrong. Our gods… or at least, the priests of our gods, say mating is… only for procreation. So, wanting you-- different species, same gender, a combination that could never make any children… is doubly wrong and that I’m damned for even thinking of it.”

“Really? Why would they do that? Mating is so _nice_ , though!” He paused and considered it. “As long as everyone’s in agreement, of course, and no one is going to get squashed.”

“I think priests get angry that they’re not allowed to take mates,” Bucky said. It took all the courage that Bucky had, and slightly more strength, but he reached out to touch the back of Stark’s hand. It didn’t feel quite the same as the dragonhide, but was still soft. “It’s supposed to bring them closer to the gods.” Bucky swallowed, stood up. “But it’s not god to whom I wish to be close.”

Stark grinned. “Then it is good you are not one of your priests.” He stepped closer, until his shirt was brushing against Bucky’s chest, until Bucky could feel the heat of his skin, his breath. “You will have to tell me how. I have never mated as a human before.”

“Uh,” Bucky said, stupidly, “I-- well, I kinda assume you all have the same bits and parts. We usually start like this.” He leaned in, reaching his arm up to cup the back of Stark’s neck and drew him in slowly, pressing his mouth against Stark’s lips. He let his eyes drift closed, and felt the soft, pillowy texture of Stark’s mouth.

He got so lost in it that it took him a moment to realize that Stark wasn’t kissing him back, and was, in fact, staring at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s called a kiss,” Bucky said. “It’s… it’s a show of interest. Erm. A mating ritual, I guess you might call it.”

Stark touched his lips with his fingertips. “It feels... tingly. Dragons don’t do this. We don’t have lips. We twine tails, sometimes, though. I think that might be the same. Maybe.” His eyes went distant for a moment as he considered it, then shook his head. “Show me again.”

This time, Bucky kissed Stark like he would have touched someone who’d never been kissed before-- since that was true in a way that he hadn’t realized. Nuzzled at Stark’s mouth lightly, flicked his tongue against Stark’s upper lip, licked at the sensitive join, gradually coaxing him into opening his mouth. “There, there you are--”

“Oh, oh, that’s--” Stark gave himself up to the kiss, then began to mirror the motions, returning it tentatively and then with more enthusiasm. “Oh,” he sighed, “I like this kiss.”

Stark’s skin was warmer than human normal, Bucky noticed, tracing down shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and oh, good gods, arms… the fabric that Stark wore was a little rough against Bucky’s bare skin. “Where… did you get all this-- how did you become a man? Will it wear off?” That would be awkward. And dangerous for _someone_ , at least.

Stark held up a necklace. “The wizard gave me this,” he said. “As long as I’m wearing it, I’ll be a human. I don’t know where the clothes came from. I was wearing them when I changed. They’re pretty, though.”

“Do they come off?” Bucky teased, tracing a circle on the skin at Stark’s throat, down to the vee in the collar. “This works a lot better when both people are naked.”

Tony looked startled. “I... don’t know. I guess, I mean--” He plucked at his shirt. “It doesn’t seem to be attached.”

“Well, that’s good,” Bucky said. “It would make doing the laundry difficult. And honestly, you’re kinda… dirty right now. And not in the fun way.” He worked the shirt off, one button at a time, strangely astonished as the shirt gave way to a mostly hairless chest, pale, plump nipples, and a navel, just like any other man. “If I wake up and this has just been a dream, I’m going to be rather disappointed.”

Stark held out his arms and let Bucky undress him, watching curiously. “Me, too. Being human is very interesting.”

Bucky put the shirt aside, careful not to wrinkle it. “Come here,” he said, drawing Stark back to the tub. “Seems like I spend a lot of time scrubbing you clean.” He took up another washcloth and sponged off Stark’s dirty forearms and neck, dropping a kiss on the clean skin. Then another as Stark leaned into it. And down, kissing his sternum.

And then he couldn’t resist the siren’s call of that perfect nipple, just the exact size for Bucky’s mouth, crying out for Bucky’s tongue to taste it, to tease it erect. He suckled at it, then leaned back to look at Stark. “Do you-- like that?” Some people didn’t, or didn’t get anything out of it at all, Bucky reminded himself, and it wasn’t going to be personal, not really, if Stark didn’t.

But Stark nodded, eyes wide and shining, his skin flushed and his breathing faster than it had been.

“Anthony Stark, you’re called. Anthony. Tones, that’s what your friend calls you. Tony?” Bucky murmured. “Why is it that dragons have human names, I wonder.”

Stark sniffed indignantly. “Dragons don’t have human names. _Humans_ have _dragon_ names.” He touched Bucky’s face and hair gently, exploring with his fingertips. “You should call me Tony,” he said. “I like that.”

“I do, too. Less formal than Stark,” Bucky said. “Tony…” He kissed Tony’s collarbone, murmured his name again. “Tony.” Licked at Tony’s throat. “Tony.” And found Tony’s mouth again, for another, heated kiss. He rolled his hips against Tony’s thigh, wondering-- he hoped that Tony was human-like, at least all the way down to the skin, because. Well, Bucky would find a way to make it work, he supposed. Everyone has fun and no one gets squashed, that’s what Tony had said.

But then Tony gasped, another delightfully startled sound, and Bucky felt an answering hardness against his thigh. “Oh! Oh, oh, do that again!”

“Let me show you something _very_ nice,” Bucky crooned, sliding his hand down the front panel of Tony’s trousers. The pants were some sort of red polished leather, and absently, Bucky wondered where they’d come from, but still, some friction would be pleasant, he assumed. He could figure out the fasteners in a moment. Tony would probably have to help him; they looked complicated, and Bucky was a hand down.

Tony gasped and _whined_ at the touch, hips jerking into it, instinctively seeking _more_. “Oh yes, yes, that’s very _very_ nice...” He rocked into Bucky’s touch again, and again. Then he tipped his head and reached down to draw his hand along Bucky’s length, almost unbearably light. “Do you like that, too?”

Bucky couldn’t help closing his eyes, to let the sensation wash through him. How long had it been, since he’d touched anyone, since he’d been touched? He drank it in, soaked it up, like it was sunshine and he was a flower. “Oh, gods, yes,” he said. “Come… come on, let me take you to bed.” He opened his eyes again. “Humans… usually mate in a bed. It’s um… easier. Since we don’t have four legs and a tail for balance.”

“Yes,” Tony said, oddly solemn. “Take me to bed, Sir Bucky.”

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” Bucky teased. He backed away, leading Tony toward the bedroom. He did not trip over the book, he was particularly proud of that.

“But you’re a knight,” Tony returned. “ _My_ knight.”

“Does that make you _my_ dragon?” Bucky wondered and shivered, because what exactly was he getting himself into? It didn’t matter; he’d take anything, hellfire and damnation, for this one moment. He cared about Tony, cared desperately for the dragon, and just as desperately _wanted_ the man. He was already lost, he just hadn’t realized it until that moment. He touched Tony’s face, bringing him in for another kiss.

“Hmm. Yes, I suppose it does.” Tony’s arms wound around Bucky’s neck and pulled Bucky down with him onto the bed. “This feels very different when you’re bigger,” he informed Bucky. “Squishier.”

“Some parts of me aren’t at all squishy,” Bucky informed him loftily. “And some of you isn’t squishy, either.” He trailed his hand down Tony’s body, squirming around to balance himself so he wasn’t putting weird pressure on his stump. “Here, help me with these little buttons--”

“I meant the _bed_ ,” Tony protested, but he was craning his neck to look at the buttons. “Stupid tiny human neck, how am I supposed to _see_ anything?” he grumbled. He fumbled with the buttons for a moment before figuring out how they worked, and then he had them all undone quickly.

“I never noticed any limitations with my neck,” Bucky said, “but you are a little more flexible as a dragon.” Bucky reached down, and then decided to go ahead and look, because if Tony’s mating parts were really different, Bucky suspected he ought to know about it.

But no, it looked like a normal cock; a little longer than normal, maybe, and delicately curved away from Tony’s belly. So, that was good to know. No spines, or weird shapes. Bucky realized he didn’t know what dragon sex organs looked like, honestly, and he… was going to ask about it, probably. But not right this instant.

“Try not to pull my hair out,” Bucky said, “and see if you like this.” He slithered down the length of Tony’s body and took the crown of Tony’s cock into his mouth.

Tony cried out and, as Bucky had predicted, grabbed onto Bucky’s hair as if it were an anchor. He said something very sharp-edged in a language Bucky didn’t know, and shuddered. “Oh... Dragons _definitely_ don’t ever do anything like that,” he gasped.

Bucky chuckled wickedly, blew cool air over wet skin. “I imagine not,” he said. “Dragons have very sharp teeth, and I think it might be more dangerous than exciting. You-- you like it?” He kept reminding himself that he couldn’t expect _human_ reactions from Tony. But so far, Tony was much like the few young men that Bucky had lain with before, responsive and sweet. And just a little bit mouthy, because it was Tony, after all.

“Oh yes, it feels _amazing_ ,” Tony agreed. He carefully let go of Bucky’s hair and took hold of the sheets instead. “No wonder your priests are upset, if this is what they have to give up. Human gods are very strange.”

“I agree--” Bucky took a deep breath, and then opened his throat and slid most of the way down Tony’s length. It had been, well, a long dry spell, and Bucky’s gag reflex wanted to protest in the worst way. He exhaled, soft and slow, through his nose, swallowed around Tony’s cock. Swallowed again, wet, feeling his lips tingle as they stretched. And then moved, sliding his mouth up and down, working his tongue against that exquisite length.

Tony outright _wailed_ , his hips bowing off the bed as he arched into it. “Bucky! How... How do you _do_ that?”

Bucky shouldn’t laugh, he _shouldn’t--_ his throat vibrated as he snickered around his mouthful and he had to pull off to breathe. He kept his hand around the base, though, and stroked Tony a few times with slippery fingers. He couldn’t help smiling. Tony was so damn _delightful_. “You are perfect,” he told Tony, and placed a soft, slick kiss against Tony’s cock. “But don’t make me laugh while I’m doing that, or I have to stop.”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to make you laugh,” Tony said. “I just, I don’t -- I couldn't even swallow _food_  today without mashing it up into little tiny pieces because human throats are so small and stiff.” He sounded immensely offended about that. “I don’t know how you did that!”

“It’s a gift,” Bucky said. “Breath control. And a lot of willpower. It takes time to learn. I don’t recommend you try it, your first time. Do this, instead.” And he proceeded to lick up Tony’s shaft, mouthed the head, nuzzled at him. Kept the skin wet so he could twist his fingers around the girth. The last thing he needed was for Tony to try to replicate the maneuver and find out the hard way that humans needed to _breathe_. Accidentally choking on someone’s dick wasn’t fun.

“Ohhhhhh...” It came out in a long, low, warble. “That’s, that’s very nice, too.” Tony propped himself up on his elbows to watch Bucky. “I should do that to you?”

“If you want,” Bucky said. He lipped one of Tony’s balls, gently, feeling the texture with his tongue. “Not everyone likes to do it. If you don’t care for it, we’ll find something else.”

“I want to try,” Tony said decidedly. “It feels so-- so-- so-OH-oh... so good!” He was squirming restlessly, panting for breath, beautifully responsive to every touch.

“Mmhmmm,” Bucky agreed. He stroked Tony a few more times, getting into the rhythm of it, working as Tony’s hips rose and fell in tandem. “I don’t know what you’re used to, but this might-- feel a little weird at first. But you’re okay. Just… let it happen, honey. I’ll be right here.”

He went back down, licking at the head of Tony’s cock like a sweet, sucking gently, working his tongue. Kept his hand moving as be bobbed up and down. Listened to the noises that Tony was making, not soft, or gentle, or at all _quiet_. For an instant, Bucky felt a stab of fear in his chest, and then dismissed it. Steve wouldn’t report him, Tony’s friend _probably_ didn’t care, and all the gods wouldn’t know what the sorcerer was up to. They were safe, or as safe as they could be.

Tony’s cries grew steadily higher and louder, and his hands clenched and unclenched restlessly. His legs shook and each breath came out as a whine of sheer need. “Bucky, oh oh oh, Bucky that’s so--” All at once he froze, his whole body drawn taut, and that gorgeous cock pulsed as Tony came. It tasted sharp and bitter and human, for all it was nearly hot enough to sear.

Bucky spluttered on it, not expecting it to be nearly as hot as fresh-steeped tea, and hastily stroked Tony through his orgasm, helping him, soothing him through the aftershocks until Tony was writhing and flailing from overstimulation, and then Bucky just patted his thighs and hips. “Shh, there you are,” Bucky said. “That was beautiful. You are beautiful.” _Like the guiding star in my life that I never knew I was looking for._ Romantic drivel. Pointless. Tony was a dragon. He’d still barely be a fledgling when Bucky was an old, old man. But like a falling star, Bucky could make a wish.

Tony panted until he caught his breath, then sat up to look at Bucky directly. “Now I want to try it,” he said matter-of-factly. “You like it, yes?”

“Don’t bite me anyplace sensitive, and yeah, I’ll like it,” Bucky said. He wiped his chin off on the blankets and shuffled around until he was laying on his back. “There are other things that humans do… but… maybe later. If you wanted to. Again.”

Tony nodded quickly. “You will show me all the things humans like to do when mating. I would like that.” He ran a hand down Bucky’s chest and stomach, curious, exploratory.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-averse readers -- this picks up where the previous chapter left off; if you want to avoid it, skip to the first *** break!

Tony touched Bucky’s skin with curious delight, no less delighted in the expressions on Bucky’s face.

Dragons reached sexual maturity around the age of twenty, when they were barely larger than mice, so Tony wasn’t wholly inexperienced. Though at his age, finding a partner of an appropriate _size_ could be a problem.

Humans, he realized, mostly _stopped growing_ after they’d reached maturity. They were all compatible with each other! That just made their weird taboos around sex and the body all the weirder.

Especially when there were so many interesting things that humans could do with their bodies! He’d had no idea! Really, humans were amazingly inventive and interesting. Though having his genitals hanging around outside his body seemed like a recipe for disaster. Maybe that was why humans were so tightly wound about clothes.

At least they’d taken their clothes off for this. It was far more fun to watch Bucky’s body react to the way Tony touched it -- twitching and twisting and flushing and jumping. Tony wondered if he’d looked like this when Bucky had been touching him... Oh! He’d wanted to try that!

Tony wriggled his way backward, sparing a quick spark of irritation yet again for the lack of flexibility in the human spine, and examined Bucky’s cock up close, noting the fine, delicate skin and the deep color and the curious shape. Tentatively, experimentally, he licked at it, testing the taste, the sensation.

Bucky made a soft cry, biting at his lip and turning his head to one side. The skin on his throat grew darker. “Tony--” Bucky reached for him, fingers in Tony’s hair -- hair, that was so strange. The stuff grew everywhere, with no rhyme or reason. On his head, around his face, over his eyes, under his arms. Weird stuff, but it felt nice under Tony’s fingers. Soft. Bucky’s hand, in his hair, that felt good, too, sent tingles of sensation across his scalp.

“Yes,” Tony agreed. “Did I do it wrong?” It seemed simple enough, in theory, even if a human tongue wasn’t anywhere near as flexible as a dragon’s. He tried again, tracing the ridge around the head, sampling the bitter-salt liquid that gathered there at the tip.

Bucky groaned again, pushing himself up on his one elbow, wobbling a little. “No, you did it right,” Bucky said. He had that look on his face again, half amused, half like a fledgling on their naming day, when the young dragon would get gifts and attention from all their elders. “Perfect, really. It’s just… a lot. It feels _really_ good.”

It _had_ felt really good, Tony had to agree. He hadn’t been able to keep still or quiet, himself. It was kind of fun to make Bucky make those noises. Tony bent to his experimentation, testing every inch of that fascinating skin, smooth and firm and soft and hard all at once. Trying to see what other sounds Bucky might make. Wanting Bucky to continue to feel good, to feel even _better_ , the way he’d made Tony feel.

Bucky’s legs moved restlessly, his hips twisting, like he was fighting to get closer, but fighting _what_ , Tony couldn’t quite tell. His thighs quivered, and he spread his knees wide, giving Tony room. “Oh, gods,” Bucky murmured, and he’d moved from biting his lip to pressing the heel of his hand against his mouth.

Like he was trying, desperately trying, to keep quiet. Not even thinking about it, just instinctively keeping his voice low, muffled. He whispered between gasps. “Please-- like that.”

Tony paused, trying to remember what he’d just done. “Like this?” He dragged his tongue firmly across the flat tip, twisting his hand carefully along the shaft.

“Oh, yeah, that’s… that’s sweet, Tony, that’s so good.” Bucky was babbling, instructions mixed with swear words, praise mixed with compliments. “Can’t believe--” His hips jerked up seemingly instinctively, seeking the heat and wet of Tony’s mouth, the soft lash of his tongue.

It was nothing at all like mating with another dragon, but Tony wouldn’t have wanted it to be. Bucky was a human, _his_ human, and it was nice to make his human feel so good. He let out a smug little chuckle and sucked Bucky’s length a little deeper into his mouth, feeling it press against the soft parts of his cheek and the roof of his mouth.

“Quick learner,” Bucky told him, wryly, then his head went back against the pillow, tossing wildly. “I want-- lord, I can’t believe you’re-- seems amazing that you’d _allow_ it.” He thrust up again, restrained somehow, but needy. He gasped, moaned, and then actually keened as Tony twisted his neck, cursing the weird limitations of the human body again. That twist, while entirely incidental to what Tony’s purpose had been, seemed particularly good for Tony’s human. Bucky’s hand clenched at the sheets, like he was trying to hold himself down, and the noises he made increased in volume until he was panting for breath, practically moaning on each exhale.

That was nice, that was _very_ nice, Tony thought, and tried it yet again. He wondered if Bucky would reach that point of incandescent pleasure, the way Tony had, or if that was a dragon thing. Well, he’d continue until Bucky asked him to do something different, or stop.

Bucky propped himself up again, to watch, and just the sight seemed to make him shiver harder, skin rippling with little bumps as each hair stood up. Maybe it was like the spines on a dragon’s back, which raised for mating. Or fighting. Same thing, sometimes. “Here, uh,” Bucky said, nodding his chin in Tony’s direction. “Wrap your hand around th’ base. You can… so you don’t choke yourself, it keeps my--” Bucky cast around for a word, apparently. That meant his sex organ, probably. Tony didn’t know many of them, but had gathered that they were… well, _rude_. Bucky couldn’t settle on a word, it seemed, and just skipped it. “--from bumping you in th’ back of your throat.”

Tony thought he’d been doing all right, but he’d never done this before, so he tried it the way Bucky suggested. And oh, yes, he saw now. He could control angle and depth both this way, which let him move faster, pushing Bucky toward the peak.

“There,” Bucky said, and he relaxed into it even more, moving his hips, rocking along with Tony’s movement. The rhythm seemed to suggest something else, something more, to Tony’s human body, like he almost knew what it was, and not quite. “You’re so perfect, sweetheart.” Well, of course Tony was perfect. He was a dragon, after all.

But Bucky seemed rather perfect, too, even if Tony’s human wouldn’t have agreed. Lopsided and old, he’d called himself, but he seemed very young to Tony. Young and strong and good, and--

“Oh! Oh!” Bucky yelled, half sitting, half-spasming. “It’s now, Tony--”

Tony wasn’t sure if it was a warning or encouragement, but he tasted a sudden burst of salt against his tongue.

Was there something special he was supposed to do? Bucky hadn’t said anything, hadn’t done anything differently when their positions had been reversed. Bucky’s hand found Tony’s hair again, stroking and clenching shakily, but not trying to pull Tony away, so he kept going...

Bucky shouted again, and Tony’s mouth was flooded with that bitter-salt taste. Bucky’s cock jumped and strained as Tony fought to swallow without dripping it everywhere, because they’d _just_ gotten clean.

“That… that was amazing,” Bucky told him, stroking Tony’s hair, rubbing behind his ear. Traced one finger over Tony’s lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I know,” Tony said easily, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He crawled back up to lie next to Bucky, rather regretting not being able to curl into the warm crook of Bucky’s neck. He settled for tucking his face into the hollow of Bucky’s shoulder instead. “And you’re perfect.”

Bucky groaned, like he was exhausted, and tugged the blankets around them, folding them inside like a sandwich. “Is-- I mean, obviously, we _can_ , we just _did_ , but I mean… is your friend Rhodes going to come bite my other arm off, or threaten me if I break your heart? Not that I wouldn’t want him to, if I did hurt you, but it’s good to know what to expect.”

Humans. Where did they get these strange ideas? “You’re _my_ human,” Tony pointed out. “Rhodey can’t have you. It would be very rude of him to try. And he’s very polite.”

“Humans do that,” Bucky said. He twined his fingers though Tony’s hair, keeping him close. Touching. Humans were very touchy, Tony was noticing. “It’ll take Stevie about a day, maybe less, to realize what we’ve done, and he’ll puff all up like an offended housecat and tell you he’ll be very angry with you, if you upset me. It’s a bonding thing; he does it because he cares about me, not because he’ll, I don’t know, actually throw you in a well or something. He comes up with some ridiculous threats sometimes.”

Well, Tony didn’t see why Steve should stop being rude _now_. “He won’t think it’s wrong and terrible that we mated?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Bucky said, slowly. “If you’d asked me that yesterday, I’d have said of course it was wrong and terrible, but-- I mean, you’re still you, aren’t you? It doesn’t much matter what body you’re wearing, you’re still-- I care about you. You’re a person, and a soul, and if the gods damn me for it, they do, but they made us all, so they should know it, shouldn’t they? I think Steve… will only hate you if you hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tony said. “I take care of what’s mine.”

“Adding me to your hoard, dragon?” Bucky wondered, not seeming to take offense. “Like a little piece of treasure? I think I can live with that.”

Tony would have protested -- Bucky wasn’t _hoard_ , Tony couldn’t _multiply_ him -- but a huge yawn overtook him before he could speak. “Nap?” he wondered. “Do we have time?”

“We’re pretty safe here,” Bucky said. “Not even a very great fool will accost guests of the sorcerer supreme while in his Sanctum. And nothing much pressing to do, while Strange works to break the blood magic between your Fury’s scale and the rest of the dragonkind. Take--” Bucky yawned as well, cuddling against Tony. “--as much nap as you want.”

The human body was more difficult to settle into for sleep, but Tony managed to find an arrangement of limbs that wasn’t objectionable, while still keeping himself close to Bucky. Maybe Bucky _was_ a little like treasure, after all. Tony smiled and let the soft warmth of sleep slide over him.

***

Rhodes hadn’t even blinked when Tony showed up to a communal breakfast in a human body and the neck of his shirt barely covering the love bite Bucky had left there in his enthusiasm. “That looks decidedly uncomfortable,” was all Rhodes had to say about the human form. At least in the human language. He and Tony had exchanged what sounded like a snippy discussion in dragon.

Bucky wondered, exactly, how Tony managed to speak dragon with a human mouth. It really didn’t seem well suited for the sounds coming out of it.

But as Rhodes didn’t say anything to Bucky, or threaten Bucky with bites or beheadings, Bucky decided everything was fine, and ignored the squabble.

It was peaceful, in the Sanctum.

Living inside the sorcerer’s tower was a little like being perpetually on vacation. Bucky slept late, ate whenever he wanted -- and usually as much as he wanted, which was a novelty. He read books, he cuddled with his lover.

It was an idyll, and probably doomed to end sooner than it should. Bucky didn’t even feel as though he was taking on wizardly charity, as the first time he’d mentioned anything about _payments_ and _inconvenience_ , he’d been treated to a lecture on economics and the value of vibranium.

“You couldn’t eat enough food to pay for this,” Strange had said, holding out the bar of it, lighter than it looked and almost glowing. “Indeed, I am quite in your debt.”

Bucky found yet another book and had tucked himself into a comfortable chair, near a fireplace, while Tony… did whatever it was that Tony was doing in the forges. He hadn’t asked Bucky for help, or invited him in. And maybe Tony needed his space.

But that morning--

“Tony wants you at the forge,” Rhodes told him.

“Sure,” Bucky said. He tucked an elaborate velvet bookmark into his book and laid it aside. “Thanks.”

Rhodes trailed along the corridor after Bucky, apparently planning to join them in the forge. Every so often, he stretched out his wings and flapped them a little, as if testing to make sure that he could, but otherwise, he didn’t say anything.

Tony was waiting at the very hottest part of the forge, right by the big fire, a large box on the table at his elbow. “Oh, good! That was nice and quick,” he complimented Rhodes. “Thank you.”

Rhodes hissed something at Tony in dragon and leapt up onto the table to examine the box, rather like an enormous cat.

Tony batted him away, smiling, and turned to Bucky. “I made something for you.” He paused, considered. “If you want it. Maybe you won’t. Humans can be funny about magic.”

“I’m currently living in a mage’s tower and associating regularly with dragons. If I was going to flip my kettle, I think I’d have done it already,” Bucky said. He frowned. “I didn’t get you anything. Is this… an occasion?”

Tony cocked his head, studying Bucky in mild bemusement. “You have given me many things since we met. Were those occasions?”

Bucky made a face. “It’s another human thing,” he said. “Your gift is in a box. That implies it’s… important. Humans… give gifts, boxed up presents. For special occasions. Birthdays and festivals. Tokens, to express their feelings. I don’t know your customs, I wouldn’t want to insult you accidentally.”

“If you wish to insult Tones _on purpose_ ,” Rhodes said, “I best be around to see that. Should be entertaining.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at Rhodes, a wholly human gesture that Tony had enthusiastically embraced. “It’s in a box,” Tony told Bucky, “because I needed someplace to keep it where the magic wouldn’t overflow and interrupt the forge. Unsealed magic is a little, mm, disruptive.”

“Do I just open it, then?” Bucky wondered. He pressed his fingers against the box. Metal, and strangely cold, even though it was in the hottest room in the building. It vibrated a little, under his skin.

“If you like,” Tony said. He was watching Bucky closely, in the way Bucky had come to learn meant he was trying to interpret Bucky’s expressions.

The box was latched on one side, and Bucky flipped them up, then pushed lightly at the lid, which slid open on silent hinges.

Inside, cradled in a nest of fine linen cloth, was… an arm.

A left arm.

Thick at the bicep with delicate, jointed fingers. The whole thing looked almost like it was made for a suit of armor, except more, somehow. Segmented and jointed so that it would move and flex and twist. A perfectly fitting glove. For an arm Bucky didn’t have anymore.

He blinked a few times, his eyes stinging. “What-- what’s it for?”

“It’s for _you_ ,” Tony said, frowning a little, confused. “Do you-- You don’t want it? You seem to miss having both arms; I thought it would be nice. But if you don’t like it, I’ll make something else instead.”

Bucky couldn’t stop staring at it; it was strangely beautiful. Shiny. Powerful. But he’d worn a hook-an-elbow for a while, and it just ached so badly, it was easier to go without. This one seemed as though it would cap over his shoulder and settle along the stump. Absently, Bucky dug his fingers against the scars, not feeling them, the way he never felt much of anything there anymore, except pain.

And Tony had made it for him. A beautiful, probably expensive, decoration. It wouldn’t hurt to try it on, would it? Tony would understand, if it hurt, wouldn’t he? “I don’t-- I don’t know,” he admitted. “Is it...Is it easy to put on? I mean, I only have one working arm, if it’s gotta come off t’ bathe, or something. I’d need help.”

Tony scoffed. “It’s _vibranium_ , it will not rust like common steel.” He hesitated. “The magic to seal it to you might be a little uncomfortable,” he admitted. “But only for a moment.”

“Seal it?” Bucky wondered. “It doesn’t come off?” That was a bit unsettling. But maybe the empty sleeve bothered Tony. Bucky knew it had bothered a lot of other people. Quite a lot of other people.

Tony’s head tipped back and forth. “I could _un_ seal it, I suppose, if you wanted it gone. Or upgraded, though I’m not likely to ever have so much fine metal to work with again. Vibranium is rare, even for dragons. But it needs to be sealed. It won’t work if it doesn’t know who it belongs to.”

“Work?” Bucky was aware that his voice was going up, as if he was getting ready to have one of those panic fits. His breath whistled in his lungs, heart cramping painfully for a second. “Like… works?”

Magic. Some humans were funny about magic, Tony had said. A real, functional… arm.

“How--” Bucky broke off, not sure he’d understand the actual process, but Tony would cheerfully explain it anyway. Maybe later. “How _well_ does it work?”

Tony pulled a face. “I’m not entirely certain,” he confessed. “I’ve never made sealing magic for a human before. The theory is sound, but until we try it... I’m not sure. Your sense of touch is different from ours.” He rubbed his own hands together, as if demonstrating the sensation. “So it might _feel_ odd. Which will mean you’ll have to learn how to move it. But you’re very bright, for a human. I don’t think it would take more than a few days.”

Bucky blinked. “It would feel different,” he said. “So… I might… feel things. With metal? I-- you’ll have to explain that to me, eventually. Using very small words. And pictures, maybe.”

He took a deep breath, looked into the case again. “Let’s try it, then.”


	12. Chapter 12

Tony woke up, buried up to his human nose in blankets that smelled like his lover and the activities between them, but he couldn’t hear any breathing, or feel any heat that would suggest that Bucky was still also in the bed. The side of the bed he usually curled up on was empty and the sheets were cool.

There was, likewise, no Bucky in the changing room, or the room with the bath, where they’d spent an enjoyable few hours as Bucky tested many of the new uses to which he could put an enchanted vibranium arm.

Well, it was hardly unusual for Bucky to awaken early. Tony would simply have to go and find his lover. He ventured into the hall, pondering where to look first -- the kitchen? the library? -- and got as far as the first crossway when he realized he had to go back to their room and put on clothes.

Humans were so touchy about the sight of other humans’ bodies.

Suitably garbed, Tony set out again. By that time, his stomach was complaining of cavernous emptiness, so he decided to check the kitchen first.

Bucky wasn’t there, but there were dishes on the table and a set of empty mugs, and a few pieces of bread smeared with a soft cheese. Cheese was something he did not like as a dragon, but Tony’s human form found it nearly irresistible.

A soft sound in the extensive pantry gave warning just before Steve came out, holding a bowl of tiny little oranges. “Stark,” Steve said, bobbing his head in something that wasn’t quite a bow, but somewhat more than a nod.

“Steve,” Tony returned politely. He picked up one of the pieces of bread and sampled it. Delicious. Better than even the fattest field mice.

Steve dropped onto the bench and started peeling the little orange, which smelled like clean bedsheets and looks like little slices of sunshine. “Mandarin?” He offered one of the fruits to Tony with a raised eyebrow.

Tony selected one of the little fruits from the bowl and sniffed at it again, curiously. He watched Steve for a moment, then set about peeling it. This would be much easier, he noted, if he had his claws. But eventually, he managed to break through the skin and begin peeling it away from the soft insides. It smelled even better.

Steve neatly sectioned off the fruit and ate each piece like someone savoring a last meal, the whole time watching Tony with narrowed eyes. Trying, maybe, to trace a resemblance between the man and the dragon.

Tony peeled the orange apart and ate one of the sections. It was even juicier than it looked, tart and bright on his tongue. “I like this,” he announced, and quickly ate another piece.

Steve nodded, slow. “Seems to be a lot of human things you like,” he observed.

Tony nodded. “Many things,” he agreed. He ate another segment of the orange. “Dragons do not often eat plants,” he confided. “Some grains, but not fruits. They taste wrong. Human tongues are very different!”

Steve choked on a piece of his own orange and coughed. “You seem to be getting accustomed to it,” he said, when he finally finished clearing his lungs. That sounded… disapproving.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tony wondered. “This form is much more useful, at the moment. Bigger. Faster. And of course, Bucky enjoys it, even if I’m not as pretty when I’m a human.” He looked around. “Speaking of Bucky, have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I did,” Steve said, and he scowled. “Saw an impressive set of bruises ‘round his neck and shoulders, too.”

“Mm,” Tony agreed, chewing on another piece of orange. “He likes it when I bite and suck on the skin there. It’s very sensitive,” he added.

Steve spluttered. “That’s… that’s private between you an’ Buck.” He shook his head. “You know you’re still a _dragon_ , right?”

“Of course!” Tony eyed Steve quizzically. “Do you think there is a possibility of forgetting? I’d think the sorcerer would have told me if there was such a danger inherent in the charm.”

“I’m sayin’ this… relationship you and Buck have goin’ on,” Steve muttered, his ears turning pink, “might not be th’ best plan ever.”

Tony gasped in excitement. “Oh! Oh! Is this the part where you threaten me?” He bounced a little in his seat and folded his hands primly. “Go on.”

“I’m not-- no,” Steve stammered. “Just… What’s your plan? You gonna keep him as a pet? You know he’s gonna be old and grey before your wings even come in, right?”

Oh. This wasn’t as fun as Tony had been hoping. He slumped a little. “I know,” he sighed. “But he is not a _pet_. That is a terrible thing to say. The princess tried to keep me and Rhodey to be pets. It is a mean thing to do!”

Steve stared down at his hands. “Whit wanted you as _slaves_ , not pets. You know, it’s not you, specific, that I'm worried about. You’re kind. I haven’t seen him so happy in years, I don’t have a complaint that way. If this is just a passing fancy, that’s… maybe that’s for the best. To let him go.”

There was a pain in Tony’s chest. He rubbed at it, but it didn’t go away. “I don’t want him to go.”

“Yeah, got a bit of that from him, too, an’ a bit of _mind your own business_ ,” Steve said. He looked up at Tony, sky-blue eyes intense. “He’s the only friend I have. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Tony nodded. “That is what it means to be a friend,” he agreed. “I would be very angry if someone hurt my Rhodey.” He nibbled on another piece of his orange. “I don’t _want_ to hurt Bucky. But accidents happen. Even dragons are not perfect.”

Steve chuckled without humor. “That’s news to the rest of us. He’s out in the courtyard. Just… think about it, okay? I would follow him to the gates of hell and hold his cloak while he kicked in the gate, but… love? A broken heart? I can’t help with that.”

Tony caught up another orange as he stood. “Bucky is going to be old and grey before my wings even come in,” he echoed, even though thinking of it made his chest hurt again. “ _Bucky’s_ heart is not the one most at risk, here.” He patted Steve’s shoulder, then went to find his lover.

Bucky was in the courtyard, just as Steve had promised, but this was a Bucky that Tony had never seen before.

He’d evidently been talking with Strange, since he had procured himself a chainmail shirt, gleaming metal greaves that showed off his powerful thighs, and a chest plate. His shield was strapped to his right arm, his sword in the new, vibranium arm as he did battle against a stuffed straw target.

His hair was tied back in a loose bun, strands of it escaping and sweat-plastered to a face glowing with energy, red with exertion and intense with concentration as he practiced, his feet constantly moving as he lunged and thrust.

Tony stayed at the side of the courtyard, watching in fascination. Bucky was so strong, so quick, so graceful. Determined and focused, like a dragon at study. It was quite beautiful, really.

When Bucky stepped back, finally, Tony said, “Is it quite dead, yet?”

“Truth, if it was merely one enemy, one or the other of us would be gone,” Bucky said. “Sword fighting is not what a stage play makes it. You want to close and get it over with. If you’re fighting the same opponent for more than three minutes, you’re doing it wrong.”

Tony nodded understanding. “Dragons are much the same. Though there are a few who like to play with their prey.” Tony cocked his head, considering. “The arm is working well, then?”

Bucky leaned his shield against his leg and sheathed the blade. “Works-- oh, _gods and saints_ , better than I could have imagined. I don’t… I don’t even know if you know what a gift you’ve given me.” He beamed at Tony, as if Tony had hung the moon for him, flexing the fingers, twisting the whole arm, admiring as it caught the light.

“Good,” Tony said. “I’m glad it is working correctly. Melding magic for humans is tricky.” He considered the arm briefly, watched its aura pulse. Strong and good. “Your Steve thinks I will break your heart.”

“That’s a risk, yes,” Bucky said. He gave Tony a slant-eyed gaze. “Can you make me a new one of those, too?”

Tony considered it. “Such magic exists,” he said, “but I don’t know it. And it has... many drawbacks. A heart that cannot break, cannot love.”

Bucky shifted, and moved to Tony’s side, touching his face with that metal hand, and it was warm, _alive_ with magic. “I’ll take the risk. It’s my choice to love you, if you’ll have it. And, even if you don’t want it, I’ll love you anyway.”

“That’s very brave,” Tony said. He covered Bucky’s hand with his own, pressing it against his face, feeling the unyielding metal. “You would make an excellent dragon.”

Bucky laughed. “And I would totally squash you, if I was a dragon.”

Tony squinted at him. “You are not older than me! We would be close to the same size!”

“As my captain used to say, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage.”

***

Bucky had seen some terrible places as a knight, traveling in whatever direction the King pointed, fighting whoever he was told to fight. The Deserts had been particularly unpleasant.

But this was a _swamp_.

As far as the eye could see in any direction. Gnarled, half-dead trees, calf-deep water dotted with little hillocks of moss, rocks, and clots of sticks and debris.

“What an incredible smell you’ve discovered,” Bucky commented, wrinkling his nose.

“I did not discover it!” Tony squawked. He sounded more than slightly stuffy, because he had his own hands over his nose. “It was already here!”

“I don’t think he meant you, personally, Tones,” Rhodey said placidly, pacing along beside them, picking his way through the muck. His long neck swiveled around, and his wings stretched out and beat at the air a little. “I bet there’s good hunting here.”

“I would say farewell, but I doubt there’s much well you can fare here,” Strange said, leaning through his portal. “Give my regards to Fury and the rest of the council.” He didn’t seem particularly disconcerted by the smell, but there was really no way to tell how much of that was leaking backward through his portal.

“I’m gonna be chest-deep in the muck, lovely,” Steve said.

They were going to have to walk. There was no way even the most half-witted donkey was going to be biddable about pulling a cart into dragon territory. And the swamp wasn’t exactly good footing for man nor beast.

“I’ll fish you out again,” Bucky said. “Thank you for everything, Doctor. Your hospitality was a welcome sanctuary.” He made a ceremonial gesture; go with the gods. Technically, _they_ were going, and Strange was staying, but whatever. The sentiment carried forward.

“I will inform that council that you are a friend to dragons,” Tony said gravely. He dipped his head a little; if he’d been a dragon, it probably would have been a graceful, almost-bow sort of gesture. As a human, he just looked kind of silly.

“How close do you reckon we are to the border?” Rhodey wondered.

Bucky squinted up at the sky, checking the sun’s angle. “Maps I’ve seen puts the Hudson just to the west of the border. Fly up and see if you can see the river? Otherwise, we’ll just head east until we find it.”

“I’ll have a look,” Rhodey agreed. “Don’t set off without me. I’m not sure I’d be able to find you again in all this.” He waded up onto a rock so that his feet weren’t in the water, then launched into the sky, lithe and graceful.

Bucky watched him, a smudge of grey against the sky like a wisp of smoke. “Must be a fine thing, to be able to fly.” Shame he probably wouldn’t live to see Tony take to the skies like that. While Rhodes was scouting the air, Bucky scoured their surroundings. It might be worth the time and effort to build a raft of some sort, if he could discover a relatively clear path through the muck.

Tony prodded cautiously at a moss-covered tree branch. “I hope it’s not too far. This will be unpleasant travel.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a sticky mess,” Bucky agreed. “And all sorts of hidden dangers. We’re going to want to rope up, in case there’s quicksand.”

“What is quicksand?”

“A misnomer, really,” Bucky said. “There’s no such thing as quicksand, but sometimes there are hollows that you can’t see, because they’re filled up with water and mud, and you can drown in ‘em. You think you’re steppin’ in a foot of muck and suddenly you’re up to your elbows and there’s no leverage.”

Tony looked faintly alarmed. “That sounds very unpleasant. Yes, ropes definitely would be useful.”

Bucky plucked a few berries from a nearby bush, sniffing at them. “Don’t know what’s edible here, either-- So I hope we’re not here terribly long. Foraging the hard way is never fun.”

A dark shadow passed overhead, and a moment later, Rhodey spiraled back down to land on the rock. “I can see the river if I get up to storm-cloud height,” he announced.

“Well, that’s right informative,” Steve declared. “You got any idea how far that translates to mileage. What is, exactly, the airspeed velocity of a centurion dragon?”

“Depends if he’s carrying anything heavy,” Tony mused.

“I could fly it in maybe a quarter of a day. It’ll take a lot longer to walk at human speeds.”

Tony knew how fast Rhodey could fly, when he wanted. “A couple of days,” he estimated. “More, if we have much trouble with the...” He waved his hand at the swamp. “...everything.”

“We’ve got three days travel-food, more if we start running short and Tony goes back to having a dragon-sized stomach. I’m more worried about water, but we can put some captures up when we make camp, collect dew and rain. This stuff--” he kicked at the fetid water around his ankles “--would probably make us all sick.”

He glanced up at the sun -- at least six hours of daylight, but Steve would have to rest more often than a marching troop. Not that Bucky had been marching in a while, either, where his choices were walk, or be whipped and _walk anyway_.

At least he wasn’t in full armor -- just a mail shirt and some plates -- and their packs weren’t that heavy.

“I’ll be able to smell fresh water, if we find any,” Rhodey offered. “And Tony and I can probably hunt our own food. This place is _teeming_ with life.”

“Yeah, hopefully that teeming life doesn’t consider _us_ dinner,” Steve muttered.

Tony looked offended. “We will protect you!”

“Right, before we get into an argument about who’s protectin’ who,” Bucky said quickly, “let’s get a move on. Daylight’s wasting.” He pointed firmly east. “That way.”

They moved. Not quickly, but they moved. Tony kept getting distracted by the wildlife, and Steve had trouble slogging through the mud, and Rhodey took a couple of side trips to hunt squirrels (and also was highly susceptible to Tony’s curiosity and enthusiasm).

On the other hand, Tony’s endless poking found them a little stream of fresh water that Rhodey sniffed and declared drinkable, which was nice, and once Rhodey came back from a hunt with a pair of already well-roasted rabbits that he offered the humans for lunch.

“Well, you’re useful,” Steve said, biting a haunch of rabbit flesh and kept talking, grease dripping down his chin. “Remains to be seen about Stark, but you, I’ll keep ‘round.”

“Humans,” Tony told Rhodey earnestly, “set great store by _usefulness_. It is one of their chief measures of worth.”

Rhodey looked from Steve to Bucky and back, then shook his head. “Weird.”

Bucky felt obligated to come to his lover’s defense. “Tony’s very useful. To me.”

Steve almost choked on his bit of rabbit, which he had thoroughly earned. “I’ll just, uh, take your word for it, okay, pal?”

The sun was getting low when Bucky found a good-sized mass of mostly dry ground, a little hill with a nice ring of trees that would keep the wind off, and hopefully prove defensible if they needed to.

It took longer to find dried out wood to start a fire than Bucky would have liked -- but what did he expect, in a swamp -- but Rhodey was able to light it relatively easily. So, there was that.

“Kinda nice, having an adventure again,” Bucky said. He was slowly working the buckles off his armor. It was good to have, but a pain to sleep in. He’d leave the chainmail shirt close at hand, just in case.

“If this is an adventure,” Steve said, scowling at his ruined, muddy boots, “than you can keep it. I’d like to be warm and dry.”

“You were warm and dry in her highness’s kitchen, and you were unsatisfied,” Bucky responded. “You don’t fool me, not one bit.”

“I’d like to be _home_ ,” Rhodey said. He curled up like a cat, wrapping his long tail all the way around himself.

“I like this,” Tony said. He stretched out on the ground and looked up at the bits of sky that showed between the tree branches. “It’s very interesting.”

“I’m gonna figure out some way to get Strange to portal us to the moon,” Bucky mumbled, settling into his sleeping sack. “That’ll be very interesting. I wonder if you can see Frost’s castle from the moon. What do you think?”

“Well, you can see the moon from Frost’s castle,” Tony mused, “so I don’t know why not. Unless it’s cloudy, of course. That would probably be very boring to look at from the moon. Just clouds.”

The conversation turned fanciful, as Bucky and Steve batted around theories about the moon and stars, whether or not one would be able to sail through the air to get from one to the next, and if there were any people that lived there already. Somewhere in the debate about possible rainfall on other planets, Bucky drifted off to sleep.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Tony woke up to discover that while human beds were pretty comfortable for human bodies, sleeping in a bag on the ground was not at all comfortable for any creatures.

Someone failed utterly when it came to the design of a spinal cord and the knobs that encased it.

Tony grumbled as he stretched. “How do humans do this all the time?” he wondered. “Maybe I will be a dragon for the rest of the trip.” At least as a dragon, he could climb up a tree and sleep in a cozy forked branch. Or on top of Bucky. That sounded even better.

“Lack of better options,” Steve said. His own knobbly back looked even more strained from the night in the ground.

“You'll be home with your own hoard soon enough,” Bucky told him. He stalled rolling up their camp supplies. “A little of that roast rabbit will do for breakfast.” He, at least, seemed fresh enough. Tony wasn't sure if he envied Bucky for not being stiff, or pitied him for sleeping on the ground enough times that he was used to it.

Tony helped to stow the supplies -- it was like a puzzle, fitting all the pieces together to make them as compact as possible -- while Rhodey tromped off into the woods to hunt his breakfast. “We will have to acquire some human beds, when we get home,” Tony said thoughtfully. “And other things.”

“Some things, at least,” Bucky said. “Clothes. A chair. Desk.” That was a happy thought, at least. Bucky carving out his own place in Tony's life.

Tony was just licking the last bit of meat off the bone -- as a dragon he would have just eaten the whole rabbit, bones and all -- when Rhodey roared a dragonish alarm.

Tony looked around frantically, but the vegetation was too thick for them to see far. “Hide!” Tony said. “Trouble! We have to hide!” He saw dozens of hiding places for his dragon-self, but not much that would suffice for humans.

Bucky spun on his heel. “There,” he said, pointing at a low cluster of bramble bushes. “Under there. Go go go.”

Steve dropped to his knees and scrambled into the spot, pulling back as far as he could get to give Tony room.

Tony crawled under the branches, wincing as the thorns pricked his skin. Humans were so _delicate_. “Bucky, come on!” He groped for the necklace; there would be more room for them all if he was smaller, and as a dragon he would be better able to defend himself.

There was a crashing sound further off in the swamp and Rhodey shrieked--

“No time,” Bucky said. He yanked his shield up, drew his sword. “Keep him safe!” And Tony wasn't sure if he was supposed to keep Steve safe, or if Steve was supposed to keep _him_ safe.

Bucky stared up into the sky, and Tony couldn’t see what he was looking at. He made a gesture, saluting the two of them with his sword, and then ran-- toward whatever it was making the noise.

“Goddammit, why is he takin’ all the stupid with him?” Steve scurried around inside the little hollow, trying to see.

Tony couldn’t, _couldn’t_ let Bucky face whatever it was alone. Couldn’t abandon Rhodey to whatever had caused those cries. “Stay here,” he gasped, and tore back out of the bushes, racing after Bucky.

“I am _not_ staying behind,” Steve muttered, clawing his way out of the brambles. “Are you all cracked in the head?”

“Possibly,” Tony admitted. There, ahead -- shouting, the sounds of steel on steel. Tony put on an extra burst of speed.

A crackle of fire blazed through the swamp, one of Rhodey’s huge fireballs; a chorus of screams. And then--

The clearing where the fight was happening was a mess of bodies, goblins or hobgoblins, Tony didn’t really know, and a few of the half-human mutants that sometimes hired out to the goblin tribes.

And an actual hydra, a normally three-headed monster, about twice Rhodey’s size.

One head was currently on the ground, cut clean through, and Rhodey had obviously cauterized the wound, since the stump of a neck was hanging off the left side of the beast.

Bucky raised his shield again, deflecting a flurry of blows from the remaining mob of goblins.

Tony stumbled to a halt as he pushed into the clearing. What could he do? As a dragon, he was too small for these creatures to even notice him; as a human, he was unarmed.

Rhodey roared again, and without thinking, Tony snatched up a fallen branch and brandished it like a club, swinging wildly. “Leave! My! Rhodey! Alone!”

Bucky was a whirlwind of movement, armor gleaming in the morning sun. He snapped his blade out, decapitating one goblin. A high, well-placed kick sent another one spinning into a tree where it did not get up again.

“Watch yourself that I don’t singe your tailfeathers,” Rhodey yelled, and he did a diving run, spitting fire right through the middle of the goblin mob.

Bucky uttered a terrifying warcry, lunged at the hydra. “Cut off one head and two grow back,” he said. “Well, we’ll just see about that--” He stabbed the creature clear through the middle of the chest.

A few of the goblins broke off, seeing Tony and Steve perhaps as easier prey. Steve yelped, grabbed the makeshift backpack they’d formed from Fury’s shield and raised it, getting behind the thing like a turtle.

Tony swung his club viciously, connecting with at least one goblin solidly. “That will teach you to meddle with dragons and their friends!”

“I thought I told you to stay back at the campsite,” Bucky complained, but he moved up until he and Tony were back to back, defending each other. “Move left, move left!”

“Expectin’ Tones to do what he’s told was your second mistake,” Rhodey said, pouncing on a goblin and ripping into the soft flesh of its throat.

“Do I even want to know what my first mistake was?”

“Bein’ born human,” Rhodey told him.

“Humans aren’t so bad!” Tony protested loyally, even as he wound up for another swing.

The hydra snarled, picking itself back up from the ground. “Gods, these things are persistent,” Bucky complained. “Rhodes?”

“Waiting on you now,” Rhodey said, sweeping back into the sky.

Bucky lunged, his sword moving with quick, precise strokes. The center head joined the first on the ground and Rhodey dive bombed, his fire so hot that it was more blue than red. A sickening sizzle, followed by the stench of burning flesh. “Shoo,” Bucky yelled at the monster. “Go home while you have a head left.”

“I think this is their home, pal,” Steve pointed out.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Tony demanded. “They could all just go on their way and let us be about ours! None of this is--” He swung again, missing that time, but causing his target to take a cautious step back. “-- _necessary!_ ”

“Tony--” Bucky whirled suddenly, practically wrapping his arms around Tony to get the shield in front of him in time to block a well-aimed spear that would have pierced Tony’s heart if it got there. Instead, it shattered into pieces against the steel of Bucky’s shield.

The hydra, down two heads and bleeding profusely from a lethal chest wound, made a hacking, rumbling sound and spat.

The black fluid that came from the hydra’s mouth smelled horrific, and it splattered across Bucky’s chest. With a sizzle like meat in a flying pan, the stuff started eating its way through Bucky’s armor, dissolving it.

“Bucky!” Tony grabbed for the catches that held the armor on. Too slow, too _slow!_ “Hang in there, Bucky, don’t--”

Steve ducked out from under his makeshift shield, grabbed Bucky’s sword and, with more luck than actual intent, lopped off the last hydra head. Rhodey managed one last fireball, and the creature fell to the ground.

The remaining goblins took one look at their fallen monster and ran screaming into the swamp. Steve grabbed hold of Rhodey’s tail as he tried to fly after them. “No! We ain’t got time to chase ‘em all down. Go-- _fly_ , we need help--”

The armor fell away and Bucky practically clawed his way out of the chainmail underneath. For a moment, Tony thought everything was going to be all right, and then Bucky fell over, chest arching up in agony as he screamed, the padded fabric of his shirt turning black and smoking.

“Bucky!” Tony screamed. He grabbed at the seams of the shirt and tore it open, desperate to get that foul substance away from Bucky. “Rhodey-- Rhodey, _go_ , as fast as you can! We need--” Tony’s breath caught on a sob. “We need the healer. _Now._ ”

Rhodey was off, flapping his wings and darting through the air-- but he couldn’t keep that pace up for long, Tony knew.

He hooked his arms under Bucky’s and pulled. “Steve! Steve, help me. Into the water, to wash it away!” They’d passed a sluggish stream only moments before; Tony could remember the splash of it as he ran toward the fight.

Between the two of them, they were able to drag Bucky, who was alternating between panting for breath and moaning in agony, barely able to help them, back to the stream.

Steve raced into the water, throwing huge handfuls of the stuff at Bucky, getting him wet-- “What is it?”

“Poison,” Bucky gasped. “It’s poison.”

“Hydra venom,” Tony said, pulling Bucky straight into the water. “Not as deadly as a venomous dragon's, but humans are so _soft_...” He whimpered, even as he lowered Bucky into the deepest part of the water, where it would dilute and wash away the venom. He stirred the water frantically with one hand, trying to make it move faster. “Don’t you-- don’t you dare leave me, Bucky!”

“Not tryin’,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw around the pain. “It’s cold-- Gods, it’s so cold, I can’t… it should hurt more--” He reached out, hand seeking Tony’s face. “Can’t--- see you.”

“I’m right here,” Tony said. He caught Bucky’s hand and pressed it to his face. “I’m right here, love. My knight. Stay with me.”

“I--” Bucky’s hand fell into the water. His chest rose, stuttered…

A shadow passed between Tony and the sun.

“Holy saints and all their demons,” Steve said with sudden awe.

With a crash like the mountain coming down, Thor dropped into the swamp, straddling the creek easily, forming a protective shell over their heads. Thor hitched in a breath and spat lightning around him, a warning to anyone within range that here was a dragon to fear. Thor was in the prime of his life, nearly four thousand years old, and somewhat taller than a tree.

His brother Loki, a snake-like green dragon with golden horns, slithered down from Thor’s back and into the swamps. “That’s a new look for you, Stark,” he observed.

Tony glanced at Loki, then returned his gaze to his lover’s face. “You’re almost as bad as the humans,” he complained. “As if what I _look like_ matters! Come and help this knight! He took the full blast of a hydra’s venom, to--” He choked on it, and forced it out. “To save me.”

Loki gave a dip of his head, acknowledging Tony’s words. “First-- let us stop any more damage. Move away a moment, that I don’t catch you in the spell.” He nudged Steve away with his tail, like Steve was too dumb to understand, a pet or something that had to be protected. He inhaled, then a slow, white mist came out of Loki’s mouth, surrounding Bucky and freezing him in place, until he was encased in ice.

“That will keep him alive, out of pain, while we move out of this revolting swamp,” Loki said. “You’re lucky-- Fury sent us out this way to investigate a magus portal, otherwise Rhodes might not have intercepted us in time.”

Thor moved his massive head around to look, dark yellow headspines waving. “They are rather small,” Thor boomed. Even when he was trying to be quiet, the thunderwyrm was very, very loud. “And human besides. We can get you a new one, friend Anthony, if you wish it?”

“No,” Tony said firmly. “I want _this one_.” He touched Bucky’s frozen face gently, then looked up at Thor. “Will you carry us -- all of us -- back? I have news for Fury that he will want immediately.”

“You ask many favors,” Loki said. “Are you certain you wish to place yourself in the debt of Asgard?”

“He’s _hurt_ ,” Steve spluttered. “What kind of _mercenary--_ ”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony stressed. “This is the way of dragons.” He turned back to Loki and bowed as gracefully as the human shape allowed. “I accept the debt.” Fury would buy back a portion of it, he was sure, for the news of the meddling human kingdom and the return of his lost scale. As for the rest... He would accept _any_ debt for Bucky’s life.

Thor rumbled. “Speak with Father, before you pay more than you owe,” he said. “I believe the all-father has some debt that he would care to give over, that was placed on him by your father over the matter of the tesseract.”

Loki scowled at his brother. “You would give away our entire hoard from your good nature, brother.”

“A debt cancelled is one that can no longer weigh on the mind, brother,” Thor said. “Climb on, little ones, and I will carry this poor fellow in my claw.”

Tony went first, to show Steve the best places to step and to help the frail human ascend Thor’s enormous bulk. “Hold here,” he said as they settled between the heavy spines. “It will be a swift journey; you must hold very tightly.”

“Never thought I’d live to ride a _dragon_ ,” Steve said in awe. Thor was an impressive specimen, Tony would admit, and his bulk was more than just age. Thor was one of the mightiest of dragons, and could, sometimes, even throw Fury over in their playful matches. If they were ever to truly contend, the fight could destroy an entire mountain range.

Thor was almost fast enough to outrace his own lightning breath, speeding through the air with a crack of thunder. Loki had taken up his normal position, wrapped around Thor’s throat like an emerald scarf.

It wasn’t long at all before Tony could see the hills and fields of Manhattan, his homeland.

***

Bucky hadn’t expected to wake up at all; that he woke up with no pain was good, except there was a heaviness on him, like good medication. He was not, then, healed. Or dead. He imagined the realm of the dead would not have something so mundane as a body that couldn’t move out of bed.

Or-- whatever it was he was laying on. It wasn’t as giving as a mattress, nor as hard as the ground. It was warm, firm… and-- Bucky moved his hand a little. _Scaly_.

“Where--”

His voice came out in the barest of whispers and even that much ached deep inside his chest. Like someone was kneeling on his ribcage.

“--unnecessary! If you would simply--” That was Tony. Sounding quite vexxed, indeed. “--listen to me! I don’t... Oh! Bucky!” The voice came closer, and then Tony was bending over him. “Bucky, sweetheart, you’re awake! We’re going to take care of you, you’ll be all better soon.” He directed a fierce look at someone Bucky couldn’t quite see.

“That remains to be seen, Stark.” A dragon, this one lithe and green and long, nearly the size of two horses end to end, but still wriggly. Wingless. And it looked angry, although Bucky wouldn’t have been able to say how, much less why.

_Scales_. Bucky suddenly realized what he must, in fact, be laying upon, and turned his head to squint up at a very large dragon with red and blue scales, spines on his head and back in brilliant gold.

“I was just about to call you,” that dragon rumbled, making the floor under Bucky shake. “It’s awakened from the spell you placed.”

“Tony?” Bucky’s voice still wouldn’t come as better than a whisper. “I don’t-- think you can do anything.” He patted the scales under him. “Come sit-- sit here with me, while I go?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Tony said sharply, but he sat next to Bucky anyway, holding Bucky’s hand between his. “Loki has magic that can save you.” He shot a look at the green dragon. “You have only to say you accept it.”

Loki, the green dragon, apparently, wrapped himself up into a ball, head and front claws resting on his topmost coil. “He has the right to understand what he is accepting,” Loki said, calmly. “I do not take innocents into debt.”

“It’s not _his_ debt,” Tony said. “I have said I will accept all--”

“What debt?” Bucky said, and his chest ached, he felt like he’d never get a full breath in, and it hurt, deeper than pain. Hurt like-- well, like dying had to hurt.

“You know the law,” Loki said. “If you take this debt up on his account, he owes you like value. You could lose standing; and that would be a shame. Your family has been so very high, and only you left now, to hold the honor of the Starks. You have some allies, it’s true, but can you afford the cost? I am only looking out for you, my friend.”

The larger dragon snorted. “Life debts are common enough between dragons. You make too much of it, brother.”

“He is a _human_ ,” Loki said. “And I will not change him so drastically without his consent.”

“Tony--” Bucky reached, and it was so hard to move, like none of his muscles worked at all anymore. “What change?”

Tony took a deep breath and gently rubbed Bucky’s hand. “The poison that is already in you... it can be delayed, magically. But the years you will regain must come from another. It is fair, and the magic agrees to the balance. Half a life for you, and half for me.”

If he could have gasped from the enormity of it, Bucky would have. At best, he managed a small sigh. “You would give up-- thousands of years of your life, for what, my two score years left to me?”

“No,” Loki said. “Half a life-- if you allow Anthony to make this payment on your behalf, you would gain half the lifespan of a dragon. The oldest of us has lived twenty thousand years, although that is rare. Perhaps, between the two of you, you would be granted-- five thousand or so, each. A full life can be had in that time. Even Thor is only four thousand years old.”

“Thirty seven hundred,” Thor corrected, rather irritable. “I’m not _old_.”

“Humans-- don’t…” Would he age, Bucky wondered, grow so old and infirm as to be nothing left of him but a living skeleton? It was horrifying… to live forever, but not to be young.

“There have been humans who have greatly increased their lifespan,” Loki said. “You would not be utterly unique. But more dragon than human, I imagine.”

“And you will have me, no matter what,” Tony said. He huffed. “It would already be done, except that Loki insisted that you consent.”

“It is a great debt he would take on, in your name,” Loki said. “What should happen if his heart changes? Humans are not meant to live so very long, and they can be fickle. Would you pin him to your side, even if he grows to resent you?”

Bucky shook his head. “ _Never--_ ” He coughed, and coughing hurt. Deep, racking pains in his chest. It was almost as if he could feel the air seeping away into poison. “I was not-- yet-- ready to die. So, I shall live longer than I intended--”

“You heard him!” Tony said, pleading. “Loki, he’s _failing_. Hurry!”

“Place your hand here,” Loki instructed, arranging them to suit himself, or the magic. Bucky couldn’t look away from Tony’s eyes, desperate and worried. What if Tony should tire of him, in a thousand years?

_Well, then, you will have a thousand years, which is more than most lovers have._

“You will be bound together, a joining of souls, a sharing of strength. There may be consequences. I have never done this before, only read of it. And usually, it is between a mated pair of dragons.” Loki inhaled and spat out a chunk of-- ice? Deep blue and pulsing with energy. “Frostheart.” He split the chunk of ice into two pieces, handed one to each of them.

“Pledge your lives together, and be as one.” Loki said.

“Tony--” Bucky said. “I give you all of our lives, _together_.”

“Together, for all our lives,” Tony promised. “My life is yours, Bucky.”

Loki said something, a word or phrase or just a sound that hurt Bucky’s brain trying to comprehend it, and when it was over, Bucky couldn’t even have guessed what letter it started with, the phrase melting from his mind. The ice melted in his hand and sent freezing waves up his arm and into his lungs and-- forced the poison out. It didn’t hurt, and that was a relief, although it wasn’t exactly comfortable, either.

And then it was over. Something cold and solid settled over his breast bone, and when he reached for it, it thrummed under his fingers. A heartbeat-- but not his own.

_Tony’s_ heart-- beating in Bucky’s chest.

Tony put one hand over his own chest as he beamed at Bucky, and a thin bluish light leaked between his fingers. “Thank you, my love.”

Everything-- changed.

Bucky couldn’t have said how, or what, only that.

He had no pain; the poison that had been killing his lungs was _gone_.

He… was different.

Part of something greater than himself. He could feel Tony, not just the physical creature that was holding Bucky’s hand, but feel _him_ , deep inside Bucky’s own chest. A little ball of light that -- that _was_ profoundly and sacredly Tony. And as Bucky marveled at it, loved it, he sensed Tony responding to that love, until he was all but burned up in the incandescent beauty of it.

“I knew it,” Tony said triumphantly, though his eyes were filled with tears. “You will be a _glorious_ dragon.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I’m gonna need you to exit that ridiculous form, Stark,” the dragon boomed. It had to be Fury, if only because he blotted out the sun, and was the same color as the scale that they had carried with them from the castle.

Fury made the fifth dragon that Bucky had seen, and for the first time, he was out and out terrified. Fury was the sort of dragon that _legends_ spoke of, huge and lethal. The kind that could wipe out entire kingdoms.

Even Thor, who was pretty damn big, seemed almost petite, comparatively.

Despite shivering in his bones, Bucky did not give in to the almost overwhelming desire to fall to his knees and grovel in the dirt. He was a Knight of the Gods, and that was its own honor.

Also, he wasn’t quite sure where dragons fell on the ranking scale.

Tony visibly pouted, then removed the necklace, dropping it to the rocky ground as he transformed back into a creature somewhat smaller than a cat. “He’s just jealous,” Tony assured Bucky, and then he turned back to Fury. “We have news!”

Fury tipped his head to peer down at Tony, putting those teeth alarmingly close. Fury could inhale and swallow Tony and probably not even notice.

Fury swung his head around, moving the air like Bucky was caught in a brisk wind so that he could look at Bucky. The dragon was blind in one eye, the huge orb dead and milky white. “Humans,” he muttered, without animosity, but also without much fondness, either. Bucky, he realized, was completely insignificant, as far as Fury was concerned, regarded the same way a person with no pets might view their friend’s dog. “What news, Stark? Your hoard has been left unguarded for nearly the entire moon.”

“Because the humans _captured_ me,” Tony said. “They _summoned_ me. With blood magic! And one of _your_ scales!” He spiraled up Bucky’s body to perch on Bucky’s shoulder, which... did not get him at all significantly higher, compared to Fury. “Show him the scale, Bucky!”

“Sir,” Bucky bowed his neck, trying to ignore the feeling that the dragon could eat him as a snack with room left over for Steve. And the rest of the kitchen staff. And the entire barracks. “I managed to retrieve this--” He yanked the covering off the scale, holding it gingerly upright, where it came to his mid thigh “-- before rendezvousing with Stark and Rhodes on our way out of the castle.”

Fury inspected the scale, then snorted, the gust of breath nearly knocking Tony right off his perch. “Very well, human,” he said. “You may take what you can carry from my hoard, in payment.”

Bucky looked down at his hand and didn’t bother to roll his eyes. Even keeping in mind that he now had two hands, that wasn’t going to be a lot. Not that treasure was something he was looking for. But it was the thought that counted. In this case, the thought was _not terribly much_.

Tony huffed indignantly. “Sir Bucky is _my knight_ ,” he said loftily. “He will use my hoard, in need, as is proper.”

Fury swung his head to peer at Bucky again. That had to be difficult and hard on the dragon’s neck, twisting around all the time like that. “You know, usually dragons get themselves _maidens_ , if they want a human that badly. You’ll want to keep him close to your cave, until you have a chance to let the moot know. Some dragons might get upset with a strange human wandering around free.”

“Obviously,” Tony agreed. “And when have you ever known me to do the _usual thing_ , Nicky?”

“Nicky?” Bucky blurted before he could stop himself. Fury seemed like a good name for a dragon that big, something epic and monstrous. Nicky seemed like a diminutive for a dragon that hadn’t been _small_ for thousands of years. “Your friends call you _Nicky_?”

“My friends call me Fury,” Fury said, that one remaining eye blazing orange for a moment before settling. “My enemies call me Fury. My _mother_ calls me Fury. Stark… enjoys flaunting the rules, and he is allowed, but only because he is owed.”

Tony exuded smugness. “But really, Fury, we need to do something about the princess and her pet bloodmage. They summoned me, and then threw me in the midden because they thought I was _too small_. And _then_ they summoned _Rhodey_.” It was hard to tell whether he seemed to be more indignant about being thrown out or his friend’s summoning.

Fury tipped his head again. “This princess, she belongs to you?”

Bucky took an involuntary step back. “More to say that I belonged to her father,” Bucky protested. “Before I was injured and could no longer serve. The king is very old, and infirm, and the princess rules in his name.”

“Badly,” Tony added with a sniff.

“Do we have a treaty with that nation?” Fury wondered, then bellowed “Coulson, _Coulson_ , get over here.”

“Yikes,” Bucky said, cringing a little under that vast roar. “Does he do that a lot?”

“Oh, yes,” Tony said, not noticeably perturbed. “You get used to it.” He eyed Bucky speculatively. “Plus, my cave is not too close by.”

The other dragon, a somewhat smaller than Thor, but bigger than Loki -- Bucky was going to have to learn about dragon ages, and if they had any other sorts of titles, aside from their names, which might just be title enough, come to think of it -- flew over for a consult. Which they held in the dragon language, so Bucky couldn’t figure out what was happening.

“Are they planning a war?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask, nervous. There was the princess, who was, after all, terrible, but the rest of the Kingdom was only normal, everyday folk, trying to live their lives.

Tony’s head tipped back and forth in a sinuous wobble. “Not... exactly.” He listened to the discussion for another moment, then said, “Would you be willing to go back? If I came with you?” He paused, and huffed. “And maybe Thor, since humans are so hung up on _size_?”

It felt strange to offer Tony a head scratch again, after so many weeks with him as a human that Bucky could lean over and kiss, but he wasn’t quite sure that kissing his lover in front of Fury wouldn’t be… impolite in some way. So he ran his hand over the soft, leathery hide. “I’ll go anywhere you go,” he said.

Tony made a pleased little rumbling sound and nuzzled briefly at Bucky’s ear. “Wait here,” he said, and he slithered down Bucky and scurried across the ground to climb up the other dragon’s -- Coulson’s? -- leg to perch on his head between his horns, and calmly inserted himself into the conversation.

Whatever Tony was saying, Fury didn’t seem to like it, but Tony was jutting his head forward in the way Bucky had come to read as “being stubborn.”

“You could learn a thing or two from dragons, hey pal?” Bucky said to Steve, who’d been mostly keeping out of the way, which wasn’t exactly normal. “Look at Tony, such a spitfire.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna make me sick, looking at him with those moonstruck eyes.” Steve elbowed him, which rang against his chestplate. Steve rubbed his arm, glaring. “Do you think it’s just the language, that makes it sound like we’re in a helluva lot of trouble?”

“Tony’s got somethin’ in mind, that’s for sure,” Bucky said.

It seemed like Coulson had come around to whatever Tony was saying, and was throwing his own arguments into the mix. Finally, Fury growled -- a terrifying sound on its own -- but conceded.

Tony made his way back to Bucky. “Before razing the kingdom entirely, Fury agrees to send emissaries -- that’s us -- to present our demands.” He looked pleased with himself.

“We have demands?” Steve asked. “That’s… magnanimous of us.”

“Razing the kingdom entirely is unacceptable,” Bucky said. He tightened his fingers a little, feeling the pleasure of his new muscles. “Too many innocent lives. I… wouldn’t be able to look the other way.” And he stood almost exactly zero chance against Fury. “What demands?”

“No more blood mages,” Tony said ticking it off on his claws. “We -- well, Thor -- will eat all the ones we find. Or possibly just kill them. Blood magic is bound to result in indigestion.” Another claw. “Restitution for the kidnappings and undignified treatment.” A third. “A seven-generation oath to stay away from the dragonlands without invitation. That’s mostly _pro forma_.”

“Nobody in their right mind comes to dragonlands on purpose,” Steve said, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Don’t know what that says about us.”

Tony held up a fourth claw. “We will take the princess as a hostage, to encourage adherence to the terms.” He patted Bucky’s shoulder. “No one will eat her,” he promised.

“She probably tastes terrible anyway,” Steve said. “Sacrificing the princess for the good of the kingdom. That’s how they’re gonna spin it, you know that. Some idiot knight with his brain in his biceps will come try to take her back.”

“Idiot knights are trespassers. We get to eat them,” Tony said decisively.

“I’m an idiot knight,” Bucky said, mildly offended.

“You fell in love with the dragon,” Steve pointed out. “You ain’t exactly sane, pal.”

“Also, you are not an idiot,” Tony added.

“Do I want to know what’s going to happen to the Princess?” Bucky asked. In terms of sacrifice, it was a simple play of numbers: Whitney, or the rest of the kingdom. He’d make that call, too, if he was the king, or the people. But living among the dragons, he wanted to... “She’s a prisoner of war, entitled to just and humane treatment.” Not that Whitney had treated Tony with anything like respect, but how could Bucky keep his honor, if he didn’t act better than his enemies?

“Fury hasn’t had a princess of his own for at least three centuries,” Tony said. “He’ll keep her.” Tony smiled toothily. “She’ll even get exactly what she wanted in the first place: a huge pile of treasure.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Steve said, “because you just might get it.”

“Seems like,” Bucky said. “All right.”

Bucky took several deep breaths. He was a Knight of the kingdom, ordained by the gods. He had dignity and power of his own, and he was not afraid of Fury. “We will accept this commision, and act in good faith, that the kingdoms of men and the dragon nations need not go to war at this point, which would be a pitiful waste of lives.”

Tony wriggled with delight. “I knew you would agree! You’re very clever, the humans will listen to you!” He patted Bucky’s ear. “And it will protect the humans you are friends with. This is good.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a what’s next comin’?” Steve asked. “Like, so after we talk the kingdom into sacrificing the princess, you know we won’t be able to stay at home.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t have to be involved, Stevie, if you don’t want to. But for me, home is where Tony is.”

Fury and Coulson were rumbling in dragonish again. “Fury says,” Tony translated, “that if we are successful with this kingdom, he may send us to other human kingdoms, to ensure relations between humans and dragons remain... peaceful.”

“I always did envy you, getting to travel,” Steve said. “Not the getting shot at, or stabbed, or crushed, but the travelling part sounds fun.”

“I believe we have an accord, then,” Bucky said. “A few days rest, and then we’ll speak to Thor about accompanying us back to the castle.”

“Thor will, I think, be more than enough dragon for her,” Steve said.

“Humans,” Tony sighed. “Always on about _size_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for this story! We hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next Sunday, we'll start posting _The Fae Tribute_ , which we're really excited to share with everyone!


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